


Deadline

by farewell_atreyu



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Manhunt AU, Realistic Minecraft, minecraft manhunt au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:54:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29096103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farewell_atreyu/pseuds/farewell_atreyu
Summary: Clay had crossed oceans. He’d climbed mountains, weaved his way through forests, and trudged through barren deserts, all with the compass gripped tightly in his hand.Now, he watches from the underbrush as the man in blue lights a fire, his white glasses pushed up on his forehead. Clay doesn’t know who this man is, or what his goal is, but he knows one thing with the most certainty he’s had since waking in this strange world.He knows he has to kill him.((aka - realistic minecraft manhunt with quite a few twists and turns))
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch, GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 37





	1. I - Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all!! i had an absolute blast drafting this so i figured i'd post it on here to see if anyone wants to read it :) many more chapters to come!
> 
> also, i feel like i should restate from my other fic that if any of the youtubers in this say that they are uncomfortable with fanfiction being written about them, i will take this down in a heartbeat !!

**PART I - DREAM(S)**

Sometimes, it feels like the entirety of this miserable universe is mocking me.

From the way the sun rises in the morning, creating long, dancing shadows of trees, you would never guess the creatures that come out at night. You would never guess how many times I’ve ended up on my knees, coughing up blood as I choke down food, waiting for my wounds to heal and wondering if this is the end. And if it is the end, then how should I feel? Afraid of whatever comes next, or simply relieved to be out of my current hell?

But now, as I watch the sun poke its head over the treetops, those thoughts almost feel like a bad dream. I run my hands through a crystal clear pool of water, and even my memories of the cave I just emerged from fade away as I wash its grime from my fingertips. How long was I down there, lost in the twisting hallways of an abandoned mineshaft? A few days? A week?

I have no idea, not that it matters anyway. I hadn’t found any of the answers I was looking for. Not even a single clue lay in the rows of broken tracks and worn support beams that would point me towards who built them, and why. I had given up, low on food and sick of feeling the venomous fangs of cave spiders sinking into my skin.

And, of course, I emerge, defeated, to a picturesque sunrise over a peaceful desert. As I wade further into the water, its temperature is perfect - not cold, but cool enough to counter the sun beaming down on me. I roll onto my back, floating languidly, and notice that there’s not a cloud in the sky. Not a single one.

I flip off the sun with a hint of satisfaction. No world so cruel has a right to be so pretty.

I only allow myself a few minutes in the water to wipe away the layer of dirt that had accumulated on my skin. After dunking my head under, running my hands through my tangled hair, I pull myself back onto the sand with a sigh and gather together the supplies that I had dumped by the shore.

_ Never stop moving. _ I had learned this the hard way during my first few days, and I’ve stuck with it ever since. Only now I’m sure where to go next, after coming up empty-handed from exploring the mineshaft. Well, not completely empty-handed - I had built a diamond sword while I was down there, and I let my eyes trace over it admiringly - but that wasn’t what I was looking for.

I wanted answers. Or... an explanation. I wanted to know why I had suddenly awoken, lying in a grassy field full of grazing cows, with nothing but the clothes I was wearing, a backpack, and a compass. I wanted to know why I can’t remember anything beyond my first day besides my name.

_ Clay. _

One word, four letters. A meaningless piece of info that tells me nothing about my reason for being here - if there is one at all. I hold out hope that there’s more to this world than simply staying alive, and I keep myself moving to keep my mind off of it.

I chew on a piece of bread as I shuffle through the contents of my backpack. As many loaves of bread as I could fit, the last of some dried salmon. Extra wood for torches, extra flint for arrows, extra iron for tools.

And the compass. I have a natural sense of direction, so it had lived in the bottom of my bag since the first day. I turn it over in my hands, absentmindedly running my fingers over the grooves and dents in the metal. Why had I been given a compass, instead of something more useful for survival? 

_ And a pretty shitty compass at that.  _ No matter how many times I shake it in frustration, the needle points unwaveringly towards the east, towards the gaze of the sun. I toss it to the side, giving up on the hunk of dented metal.

Clothes, a backpack, and a broken compass. It all makes no sense. 

_ Unless... _

Unless there’s a  _ reason _ it points to the east. Unless it’s leading me somewhere, rather than simply helping me navigate. I gently pick the compass up from the sand, examining it with newfound curiosity as I turn it over in my hands.

It’s a long shot. I know that. And yet, it’s not like I have any other options, anywhere else to go. 

After all, I have to keep moving, and it seems like a fitting transition. To go from wandering the depths of a mineshaft, searching for answers that might not exist, to following the needle of a compass that could simply be broken. Both are somehow better options than staying put, letting myself grow idle and restless. 

I give myself another moment to rest before tossing my backpack over my shoulder. With one last glance towards the exit of the mineshaft, I close my fingers tightly around the cool metal of the compass, and set off in the direction of the rising sun.

\--

It takes me a week to find him.

Although, I didn’t know that it was a him at the time. I had been expecting a towering castle, or maybe a treasure chest, and thought the compass was simply malfunctioning when the needle started drifting further north than it originally pointed. I had crossed a desert, climbed a mountain, paddled down a river, all with the familiar weight in my left hand. It pulled me forwards with increasing urgency as I could feel myself getting closer,  _ closer... _

I walked for days straight, only stopping when my surroundings seemed to spin and I started getting glimpses of dark shapes out of the corners of my eyes, swooping down from the sky. I would give myself a mere couple of hours to sleep at the end of the night, then force myself to keep pushing forward when the sun blinded me at dawn. Only, on the eighth day, I snap awake to a soft morning glow and the sense that something is off.

There are footsteps. Not the slow, meandering sound of a zombie, or the crackling of a skeleton, or the soft steps of a pig or sheep. Quick, purposeful footsteps that remind me of my own as they steadily get louder.

I sit up slowly, taking care to minimize any noise. I had spent the night on a large tree branch in the thick of the jungle, too high up to be noticed by any monsters. The patchwork of vines that had helped shield me overnight now obscures the forest floor, and I squint as I attempt to make out the figure below. I get a glimpse of blue - a shirt, maybe - and I’m adjusting my position to see more when I glance at the compass.

It’s the last thing I set down whenever I sleep and the first thing I pick up when I awaken. I had left it precariously balanced on a branch near my head, and my eyes almost drift past it, before snapping back in realization.

The needle is  _ moving _ . As the person, whoever they are, passes underneath my branch, the compass reverses its direction. Now, it points backwards, at the fading footsteps.

I stare at it in shock for a few moments before the world snaps into focus. I gather my things as quickly as possible, hoisting my backpack onto my shoulder and gripping my sword tightly as I slip back down the tree. 

All this time... a  _ person?  _ I had contemplated dozens of possibilities for where the compass is leading me, and yet this has never crossed my mind. 

I catch up to the man quickly, watching him silently from between two large tree trunks as he makes a fire. A couple of parrots watch him as well, and I inch closer as he glances over at them. My sweatshirt sticks uncomfortably to my skin in the thick humidity as I try to make my footsteps silent.

“Do you want some seeds?”

I freeze at the sound of his voice, my heart thudding heavily in my chest as I watch him cheerfully feed the parrots.  _ Did he... did I just understand him? _

“Aww, you’re welcome,” he croons, and there’s no questioning it this time. I watch him settle down, chuckling softly as the parrots hop around each other while pecking at the seeds he dropped.

In all the days I’ve spent wandering this world, this is my first time encountering someone who talks like me. Most of the inhabitants are animals, or mindless humanoid creatures whose only purpose is to kill. The closest beings to humans who I had found were the villagers, yet even they had something off about them, and as hard as I tried, I could never communicate verbally with them. I had begun to think that the language I hear in my head is one that only I can understand. My own invented gibberish.

And yet, the strange man I’ve been following is speaking it. I would have thought that this would excite me, but the glimmer of positivity present in the discovery is far overshadowed by the twisting, curling feeling in my gut.

I hate him. I hardly know him, and yet the longer I watch, the clearer it becomes. I hate his funny way of pronouncing words, and I hate his pathetic excitement over feeding the parrots. I hate his obliviousness of anything outside of his little bubble, and I hate how he fills the silence with constant chatter. I hate the white-rimmed glasses he wears, pushed up on his forehead, and his short dark hair, and the fact that he has the same backpack as me, just as worn and damaged as mine. 

My fingers close around the compass, gripping it tightly. I don’t know who this man is, or what his goal is, but I know one thing with more certainty than I’ve felt since I woke up in this strange place.

I know I have to kill him.


	2. I - Chapter 2

_ Killing is going to be hard. _ I remind myself of it as I make my way through the forest, always keeping my distance from the flash of blue in front of me. Sure, I’ve killed animals - chickens and cows and sheep and fish. I’ve killed my fair share of monsters as well, humanoid zombies that stumble towards me unrelentingly and fierce giant spiders. But never a person.

I had been following the man for a few days, lingering only close enough so that I didn’t lose him, masking my pale skin and bright green sweatshirt with mud. At first, I was simply following while I worked up the courage to kill him, but watching has proven itself to be useful. I’ve learned that he’s absolutely oblivious, stomping around this world as if he owns it. I’ve had a couple of close calls, once when I stepped on a stick while he was breaking to eat, and once when I was sabotaged by a burning zombie, but both times he didn’t seem to notice the noise. He also talks to himself often, always with his strange accent. His soft voice seems to take on a desperate urgency to fill the silence constantly approaching, as if he’s not used to being so alone.

But on top of that, I’ve learned that this man is not someone to be underestimated. I’ve seen him take down zombies effortlessly, and deftly hop out of range of exploding creepers. He reminds me of myself - which means he’s not the sort of person I want to take on in a fight. I had been hoping to catch him totally off guard, perhaps when he’s sleeping, but -

_ It seems like I won’t have time for that.  _ I grimace, squatting down behind a bush. The man spent nearly the entire morning crafting a boat with the ocean behind him, pristine and seamless in the still air. The second he gets out into open water, my chance will be gone. He’ll be able to spot me following him from a mile away. 

With sweaty, stumbling fingers, I notch an arrow into the bow I had made this morning. My thighs burn as I crouch at the edge of the forest, at the line before it transitions into a smooth beach. If I squint in the sunlight, I can see the man’s head bobbing in the water. He must be catching fish.

_ C’mon...  _ I tap my foot, impatient and without rhythm.  _ Come closer... _

I do my best to calm my breathing when he finally emerges, victorious, holding a fairly large fish. I attempt to steady my nerves as he puts his dagger back into a sheath he’s attached to his belt loops. As soon as his back is to me, I raise the bow.

_ Exhale... inhale... exhale... _

With a whiz, the arrow is gone. I duck behind a tree at the yelp of pain that comes from the beach, cursing softly. I’m not sure where I hit him - his leg, maybe - but I know it wasn’t good enough. 

_ Godammit. I should’ve done more target practice. _

I notch another arrow as I poke my head around the other side of the tree. My gaze locks on him, standing stupified in the middle of the beach, iron sword in hand as his eyes scour the forest.

_ Exhale... inhale... ex - _

I let the arrow fly, which I’m sure misses wildly, and pray he doesn’t see me as I duck back behind the tree. The sand masks his footsteps, creating an unnerving silence broken only by the faint lapping of waves.

“I know you’re there.” His voice is confident, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He must not have seen me - there’s no way he’d be able to keep his cool so effortlessly if he had. He thinks I’m a lone skeleton taking refuge from the sun in the shadows of trees.  _ Perfect. _

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he croons, his voice drifting closer. I set the bow softly against the forest floor and unsheath my sword.  _ Any second now... _

“I  _ said,”  _ he says, inching closer to my tree, and every muscle in my legs tenses up.  _ C’mon, just a little closer...  _ “Just come out, already. I’m not in the mood for -”

_ Now. _

It begins and ends in an instant as I spin out from behind the tree to shove him, hard, hands planted firmly on his collarbones. He’s shorter than I thought, stumbling backward, and before he can react he has his back against the tree, my sword at his throat, and his left arm pinned uselessly out to the side.

“Drop the sword!” I bark, my voice sounding hoarse and unfamiliar after weeks of not speaking. My heart hammers as he stares at me, mouth open in shock.  _ “Drop it!” _

I sound absolutely insane. Needless to say, he drops his sword, and it clatters to the ground pathetically.

_ It was all so easy.  _ All it would take is one jerk of my right arm, and then it’s over. I’ve spent the past few days gathering my courage, imagining this moment in great detail. I had told myself I wouldn’t hesitate. I had told myself I would push my moral compass to the back of my mind. This is what I have to do, I know that, and yet -

I can’t stop staring at the whites of his wide, terrified eyes, thin red veins branching through them. I can smell the saltwater still dripping from his hair, soaking his shirt, and it all feels too  _ real.  _ At the edge of my sword, a couple drops of blood have formed, piercing red as they drip down his skin. I force myself to ignore them, to steel my nerves, to tighten my grip around the hilt of my sword. It will all be over in a couple of seconds,  _ in three, two - _

As soon as he speaks, my countdown is long forgotten. As soon as he speaks, I’m only dully aware of the world around me as his voice bounces through my mind with piercing clarity.

“D -  _ Dream?” _

Just one word, spoken in a stammer, and yet I’m suddenly struck with the feeling that it’s important. That it means something more than its dictionary definition. That I should know what it means, but I simply  _ don’t,  _ and I’m left wracking my brain helplessly, my grip loosening on my sword as -

_ Oh. Oh, fuck. _

The world snaps into focus once more with a blinding pain in my stomach. I gasp, frozen in shock, as he drives his dagger into me again, the weapon I had completely forgotten that he had. He shoves me off of him, and I stumble backward, the world spinning around me, before landing heavily on the sand.

_ Food. I need food, I’m losing blood, I need to heal, I need... _

I had landed partially on my backpack, and it takes many painful attempts to get it out from underneath me. The world swims in and out of focus as I struggle to pull my arms out of the straps, fumbling with the zipper. When I finally manage to get it open, it takes me a moment to remember why I was looking through it in the first place, my thoughts slow and fuzzy.

_ I need... I... _

It starts with my fingertips. I hold my shaky hand out in disbelief when I notice it, subtle at first, the kind of pale translucence I could simply be imagining. But then it spreads up my fingers, and there’s no denying it. I’ve seen it in the dozens of monsters I’ve killed, but I had never thought that it could happen to  _ me.  _ That I could simply disappear as well.

I look up helplessly, and the man hasn’t moved. He stares at my fingers with the same disbelief as me, his hand covering his open mouth, his eyes wide as if he can’t believe what’s happening.

_ I’m going to die. _

The thought slices through my waves of dizziness, filling my mind with sudden helpless clarity, and I’m hit with a wave of terror as the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything is wild rn, but i promise it will all make sense in the long run... bear with me :)


	3. I - Chapter 3

The world comes into focus slowly, starting with a warmth that spreads from my forehead down to my toes. I had dreamed of the night sky, which stretched out endlessly above me, but now I’m lying down with my head resting on my palms and the sun on the backs of my heavy eyelids. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m vaguely aware of the last events I remember. I wonder if this is heaven. If I somehow deserve this, to make up for the weeks of hunger and injuries, on top of my constant exhaustion. 

A light gust of wind causes a strand of grass to brush against the tip of my nose, tickling me as I sigh happily. It all feels so comforting, so safe, so - 

_ Fuck, what is that smell? _

My eyes snap open and are met by a cow, gazing blankly at me for a moment before continuing to eat the grass near my head. I know in an instant that this isn’t heaven, that heaven wouldn’t smell like cow shit, and it wouldn’t feel vaguely familiar.

My heart sinks as I place the familiarity and stand up, stumbling over my feet as I spin in a slow circle. I take in the herd of cows around me, the towering pine trees at the edge of the field, and the tips of wooden houses visible over a hill. It all fits right into place, exactly how I remember it from when I first woke up. 

And yet, I shouldn’t be here. Not this time. I’m not sure where I should be, but I know it isn’t here, because I... I...

“I  _ died,”  _ I mumble in astonishment, and the last events I remember flash through my mind with piercing clarity. In a panic, I lift up my shirt, revealing my pale stomach without a single scratch. I run my hands over my skin to convince myself that this is real, that my wounds are actually gone, while my mind spirals.

_ How could I have let this happen?  _ I kick the ground in frustration, causing a small shower of dirt. It was all so stupid. I had him. I  _ had  _ him. I was taller, faster, stronger, and I had the element of surprise, but he managed to kill me _.  _ All because of that stupid word, which had knocked me off guard, completely derailing my thoughts.

_ Dream.  _ Even now, I can’t get it out of my head. The word’s meaning is on the tip of my tongue, and yet I keep coming up blank. I’m about to kick the ground again when my eyes fall on the backpack. 

It’s empty except for the compass, as I assumed, which means I have no supplies and only half a day remaining before it gets dark.

And we all know what happens when it gets dark.

With a sigh, I head over to the nearest tree, exactly as I had done a few weeks ago.

\--

I’m lucky enough to have a house near spawn, a poorly-made shack on the outskirts of the village where I had spent the first week of my life. It’s strange to be back, and each step of my walk over reminds me of the pain and confusion of my first few days. 

I make it to my shack, slipping inside to dig through my chest. I couldn’t carry all of its contents with me when I left, so I manage to find enough iron for an axe, enough string for a bow. 

I spend the night crafting, keeping myself occupied to avoid acknowledging my surroundings. How many nights have I spent staring at the ceiling of this pathetic house, crying my eyes out and wishing to be anywhere else?

_ Probably all seven nights that I stayed here, _ I think, eyeing the seven shaky lines carved into one of the wooden walls before returning to the axe I'm sharpening. That was back when I still kept track of the days, before I delved deep into the mineshaft where time became meaningless. Back when I cried, and screamed, and talked to myself. I’m different now. I’ve been different ever since I emerged from the mineshaft, after days spent underground.

I leave my shack as soon as dawn comes, stocking up on food for the journey ahead of me. I steal some of the village’s supply of wheat - as much as I can take without anyone noticing - and turn it into bread, jamming my backpack full of it. I drink from their well, before pulling myself up to sit on the edge and let my legs dangle. The morning is blissfully cool, houses casting tall, stoic shadows over dew filled grass as the villagers mill about their daily tasks.

_ I’m ready,  _ I think as I turn the compass over in my hands. I’m ready, and yet I haven’t left yet, pursing my lips as I study the scratches on the compass’s dirty glass.

I don’t have to go after him. I know that, but I’ve never really considered it until now. I may not have to fear death, but pain is still real, and inevitable if I chase after that man. I still have my free will, so I could choose to ignore the compass, to go in the opposite direction and... and...

What would I do? Build a house? Grow a farm? Mine for diamonds? Wake up every morning to the same, meaningless day?

I can’t help but scoff at the possibility, brushing my hair out of my eyes as a sudden gust of wind courses through it. I could never be satisfied with that - not with my burning desire to understand who I am and what I’m doing.

_ Dream.  _ That word hasn’t left my mind all morning, floating through my thoughts. The man the compass points to knows something; I’m sure of it. Finding him is the best lead I have towards finding out where I come from. And once I find what I need to know...

My hand closes around the compass, gripping it tightly.  _ I’ll kill him.  _ It’s what I’m meant to do, after all. But for now, that can wait until I understand the ‘why’ of this strange universe.

With a sigh, I get up, heaving my backpack over my shoulder and lifting my axe off of the ground. As soon as I start walking, I find myself falling into the familiar pattern of searching, the compass held tightly in my left hand, my legs moving almost on their own as I set off.

\--

I’m getting close. I can feel it in every aching muscle of my body as I move through the plain, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand. There isn’t an inch of shade, and at this point all of my body is sticky with sweat, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is following the wobbly red needle and gaining ground on the man it leads to.

The journey has taken nearly twice as long so far. The man ended up crossing the ocean, so I was forced to follow, paddling for two days straight in a leaky boat. I passed the spot where I died, the ground littered with items. They mostly seemed to be mine, although the man had left his dagger here as if he wanted nothing more to do with it. I shuffled through my old belongings, finding a wooden shovel, some rotten pork chops, a couple of emeralds left over from trading with the villagers, but nothing especially of value. I’m sleeping less and eating less so that I can take fewer breaks. Nothing matters except catching up to the man in front of me. 

The sun glares straight into my eyes, with only a few puffy clouds floating across the sky, and at first I almost think I’m imagining the flash of reflected sunlight further down the meadow. That is, until I squint, shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand, and make out a strange archway shaped structure made out of dark stone. A figure stands in front of it with his back to me, and I don’t have to check my compass to know that it’s the man.

I don’t bother sneaking up on him, as I stomp through the tall grass and swat flies away from my face. After all, I’m not going to try to kill him this time - not yet, anyway. My axe hangs limply by my side, and I tighten my grasp on it as it starts to slip down in my sweaty palm.  _ Fuck,  _ it’s hot.

The man bends down in front of the archway, which upon closer inspection is more of a doorway, a crude vertical rectangle of dark stone. The outline is thicker in some places, thinner in others, with awkward grooves and bends. He must’ve made it himself.

The man curses, loudly, and I freeze, before realizing the words weren’t directed towards me. He’s fiddling with something as he squats in front of the archway, so intensely focused that he doesn’t notice me stepping forwards to get a better view. 

My breath hitches in my throat when I get a glimpse of the lava that pools behind the structure, the reds and yellows swirling together as it bubbles and oozes. I flinch when a bit spurts up with a popping noise, but the man doesn’t seem to even notice, his eyes trained on his hands. I take another step closer, sure that he’s going to spin around and confront me at any moment, but instead he murmurs a hushed ‘yes!’ as it catches.

A fire. That’s what he was trying to make. It flickers, small and sputtering, before roaring to life as if the structure had been doused in gasoline, curling up the obsidian edges and -  _ no, that can’t be right, this can’t be possible, it can’t - _

I have to force myself to close my mouth. The fire is gone, and in its place is a translucent purple substance, swirling and twisting. I can’t tear my eyes off of it, watching shapes come and go as I listen to the muffled voices that seem to echo from within.

The man moves to scoop up his backpack, breaking me out of my trance. I briefly wonder how long we stood there, me behind him, staring at the doorway. He takes a deep breath, loud enough for me to hear. His hands placed firmly on the straps of his backpack, I watch in disbelief as he steps into the purple, letting it envelop his body, before spinning around to face me for the first time since I started watching him. His eyes go wide immediately as he opens his mouth to say something, his hand reaching for his sword.

And then he’s gone.

“Holy shit.” I blink in disbelief, cautiously approaching the portal - which is what the archway seems to be. I extend an arm, dipping my fingertips into the purple substance, and nothing  _ feels _ different. The voices seem to grow louder, along with the gut feeling that I should run far away from here before it’s too late, but my hand feels fine. I gulp, watching the swirling purple shapes that continuously seem to be coming close to forming something recognizable before dispersing into new patterns.

This is a bad idea. I’m sure of it.

And yet, I can’t stop myself from taking a step forward, standing in the center of the portal, just as the man had a few moments ago. My vision is tinted purple and fuzzy, but I can still see the outlines of trees at the edge of the valley, and hear the wind rushing through their leaves. 

_ Maybe it doesn’t work for me?  _ I fidget with the compass impatiently, leaning back on my heels.  _ Maybe he’s special somehow. Maybe... _

I’m about to step out of the portal to reassess the situation when I realize the ground is disappearing, along with the distant trees and puffy clouds of the sky. The world swims in and out of focus until all I can see is purple, and all I can hear is the roar of the portal, growing louder every moment. I move to cover my ears, to tune out the rumble intermixed with terrified screams, only to realize that I can’t feel my hands, or my arms, or my legs, either. The world is spinning and all I can see is purple, purple, purple...

_ And red. _ My vision clears suddenly, and I stumble forwards, my axe falling from my hands as I throw my arms out for balance. I’m vaguely aware of shouting - probably from the man, he must be nearby - but the voice sounds miles away, soft compared to the piercing ringing that fills my ears. I stare stupidly at the ground in front of me, trying to make sense of the jagged red stone, but the world is still spinning, it’s still spinning, it’s -

“Don’t come any closer.”

His voice cuts through the fading ringing of my ears, and I jerk my head up in response to see a glint of blue. I stare at the shaky point of the sword, my arms still out beside me for balance as my stomach does somersaults. I stumble forwards without meaning to, my arms around my stomach, and I can’t help it, I’m going to -

“Hey! I  _ said,  _ don’t -”

He cuts off when I puke, holding my midsection as everything I ate today leaves my stomach. I nearly forget that he’s here until I finish, wiping my mouth with the back of a shaky hand as I step backward.

“What... the  _ fuck... _ are you doing here?” His words are venomous, the tip of the sword still a few inches from my forehead. Although the world has mostly stopped spinning, the sword is still all that I can focus on, its cool blue metal looking strangely familiar as the cloudiness of traveling through the portal fades from my mind.

“You took my sword,” I state, plainly and stupidly, unable to draw my eyes away from the tip. I had spent hours in the mineshaft, agonizing over perfecting that diamond sword. I would recognize it anywhere, even in the hands of this strange man.

“Wha-” he scoffs, sounding surprised. “Of course I did! You were - I mean, I watched you die!” His eyes are wide, his mouth slightly agape as he leans back against a wall of reddish stone for support. “How the  _ fuck _ are you alive?” 

I let my gaze wander up the wall he leans against, which ends high above our heads, in a sea of red fog. The sky - no,  _ ceiling _ \- is made of the same rusty red stone as the ground, as well as the rockface behind me.

“Hey!  _ Answer me!”  _

_ We’re underground.  _ I can deduce that from our surroundings, but not much else. I’ve never seen this reddish stone before, or a cave with such a high ceiling.

“What is this place?” I murmur, more to myself, but out of the corner of my eye I see the man follow my gaze as he takes in our surroundings for the first time.

“The Nether,” he breathes with certainty, and although I don’t know what that means, I don’t question it. Instead, I watch his wide, terrified eyes as they follow the ravine walls up to the ceiling. Now that I’m taking the time to study him, I realize he looks younger than I thought, and smaller. Only the dirt streaked across his face and the tears in his clothing signify that he is not someone to mess with, that he has been through the same hell as I and survived. 

He certainly doesn’t look special - quite the opposite, in fact - and yet, he knows something. He  _ must.  _ Why else would he have said the word whose meaning dances endlessly on the tip of my tongue? Why else would his eyes have flickered with a sort of surprised recognition when they met mine?

“What did you mean -” I start, and his eyes jump back to me instantly, terrified awe being replaced with guarded fear. He takes a step back instinctually, steadying himself, his sword tip still pointing towards my throat. It’s a bit overkill, considering that I’m unarmed and my axe lies feet behind me.

“- when you called me Dream?” I finish, and I just barely catch it - the moment when his eyes narrow, his grip tightens on the hilt of my sword, his lips push together into a thin line. Immediately after, he furrows his brows in confusion, his eyes wide again as he relaxes his hold on the sword, but it doesn’t matter. He’s a lousy liar. I saw his reaction.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“That word you said. ‘Dream.’” I shift my weight onto one leg, acting as casual as I can when a stranger has his sword to my throat. “What does it mean?”

“You must have misheard me.” 

There’s a spark of defiance in his eyes, although he does his best to douse it in naivety. He knows something. I’m sure of it - what else would he be trying to hide? 

I just need some way of getting him to trust me, getting him to open up...

“Look,” I say, trying to keep my voice friendly. God, I haven’t talked to another human the whole time I’ve been here, and I almost don’t know how to. “I think we started off on the wrong foot.”

“You _think?”_ he scoffs. “You tried to kill me!”

“You  _ did  _ kill me,” I point out, and that’s when I notice it - a quick, guilty wince. I remember his dagger, left alone on the beach after it proved its usefulness. I’ve hit a sore spot, that’s for sure. I can work with this. “And I wasn’t going to kill you. I just...”  _ Act friendly, Clay.  _ “I haven’t seen another person like me before...”  _ Nervous.  _ “And I was worried that you were going to attack me if I just walked up and said hi. I was going to let you go... obviously.”

I remember his habit of talking to himself, pretending that someone is there with him, and add, “I just - I don’t want to be alone.” I pout slightly, feeling absolutely ridiculous. This whole story is absolutely ridiculous, and yet his sword no longer points directly at my throat.

I pause for a moment, before continuing. “I can help you with... whatever it is you’re trying to do. I can pull my own weight. And I won’t try anything like the first time we met again.”

I hold my breath as he purses his lips in concentration before sighing, puffing out his cheeks as he exhales. 

“Okay.”

_ Idiot.  _ It was easy, far too easy, and it shouldn’t have been. There must be something else going on, something else he’s trying to hide - but for now, I can work with this.

I smirk as we take in our surroundings, studying the deep red ravine walls.

_ Yes, this will work just fine. _


	4. I - Chapter 4

I grunt as I swing the pickaxe one last time, chipping away at the brittle red stone, before pausing to wipe the sweat from my brow. It drips down from my hair and onto my shirt, which has already been soaked.  _ Fuck.  _ I gulp, my mouth painfully dry, as if my saliva has evaporated just like all of the water I brought.

“Hey!” I can feel the tip of his sword press lightly into my back the second I set the pick down. “Why did you stop?”

I groan heavily as I slump against the wall, trying to get as far as possible from the drop. A lava lake lies far below us, but I can still feel its blistering heat from here. “I’m fucking tired, okay? Gimme a break.”

“Fine,” he relents, but there was no way I was picking the pick back up in the next few minutes regardless of what he thought. I tilt my head back, leaning it against the wall as I close my eyes, pretending not to notice the trickle of sweat working its way down my leg.

The man had made it immediately clear that although he would let me help him, he wasn’t stupid. He would let me keep my axe - for self-defense against whatever monsters live here - but I would be walking in front of him and he would have his sword trained on me at all times. Well, my sword, the one that he stole.

And so here I am, carving a path for us along a sheer rock face, with a sword pressing into my back the second I stop. 

It’s fucking humiliating, but what choice do I have?

I crack my eyes open to see the man looking out over the lava lake, squinting to see through the deep red fog that lingers around the cliffs. He’s searching for something, that’s for sure.

“Well?” He catches me staring at him and raises his eyebrows expectantly. “You ready to keep going?”

“Gimme a sec.” I lower myself down along the wall, and he sighs impatiently, fiddling with the hilt of his sword. I shoot him a look. “What’s your rush?”

“I just...” He gazes out over the endless waves of red that pop and bubble sluggishly. “I don’t like heights, okay?”

Our first conversation since he agreed to let me tag along, and this is what he tells me. I scoff. “You’re kidding me. The extra hundred feet before you hit the lava will be a  _ blessing  _ if you fall.” 

I illustrate my point by grabbing a loose netherrack pebble and lobbing it over the edge. He watches it fall silently before sitting down a few feet away from me, and I realize that I’m probably not doing the best job of making him trust me. Even sitting cross-legged on the ground with his back leaning up against the wall, his sword is still ready in his hand. 

I sigh, closing my eyes. I can’t blame him for hating heights. The jagged, twisting rock faces make me queasy as well, along with the steady, rolling motions of the lava. Or maybe it’s the heat, filling every inch of this place, coming from the lava far below us, the walls next to us, the ceiling high above us.

There’s a sudden scream - definitely not human - and I shudder involuntarily as it echoes off the cavern walls. We have yet to encounter any creatures besides these strange, humanoid pigs that seem to ignore us, and I want to keep it that way. The Nether is never silent, as strange screams and cries echo constantly off of the cavern walls. Sometimes they sound human, sometimes they’re distinctly not. And even when the voices go silent, there’s always the sound of lava, bubbling and popping.

But although our surroundings are never quiet, I’m suddenly aware of the silence between us as the man next to me shifts his positioning slightly. He twiddles his thumbs, and it hits me that he can’t  _ stand  _ it, this silence between us, despite the fact that he hates me, despite the fact that he’s only begrudgingly letting me tag along.

“I’m George.”

I glance up when he speaks, and he extends a hand towards me uncertainly. I shake it, and we both withdraw quickly.

“Clay.”

“Clay,” he repeats softly and smirks, his face flickering in the glow from the lava below us. “Like the block.”

For a moment, the phrase hits me as familiar, as if it were something I would say, and I blink in surprise. By the time the feeling passes, the man -  _ George _ \- is standing, looking impatient, so I muster the strength to push myself up and keep moving.

George is searching for something, although I’m not sure what. I have a sinking suspicion that even he doesn’t know, but he’d never admit it to me, his eyes darkening dangerously whenever I attempt to interrogate him about it. We had been walking for miles before coming to a dead-end, where the land underneath us dropped off into a lava lake. George was the one who had the idea to go around the lake by digging a path along the sharp cliff face, but, naturally, I was the one doing all the work. I nearly collapse when we make it to an open field, my hair matted with sweat. I barely even notice that George isn’t watching me impatiently and poking me with his sword until he speaks.

“Holy shit.”

His voice sounds so awestruck that I can’t help but follow his gaze, and the exhaustion dripping from my limbs instantly vanishes as my jaw drops.

It towers over us, stoic and regal, rising out of the lava and the adjacent cliffs of netherrack. The black stone seems to absorb the nearby light, pulling me closer despite the fear solidifying in the pit of my stomach, telling me to run until my legs give out, to put as much space in between me and this... thing as possible before -

“The fortress,” George breathes, and I glance over at him in surprise, having forgotten that he was here. “It looks exactly like it did in my dreams.”

Dreams.  _ Great. _ Here we are, in another fucking dimension, relying on dreams to guide us. 

I shift my weight, crossing my arms in front of me. “Did the dreams tell you anything else?”

“Hmm?” George blinks, as if he were too lost in his own thoughts to hear me.

“Like, did they tell you what we’re supposed to  _ do  _ at this ‘fortress’?”

“Oh.” He gulps as he returns his gaze to the towering structure, his eyes glazing over slightly. “Go inside, I suppose. After that, I just see fire.”

“Fantastic,” I mutter, but George ignores me, walking towards the fortress as if compelled. I have to jog to keep up, meeting him at the bottom of one of the pillars. Although it holds its chin high, up close, the fortress seems seconds away from collapsing in on itself. The dark brick is chipped and disjointed, some sections completely crumbled away. I get the feeling that the structure used to be something dreadful, something powerful, and although all that remains is a skeleton, it’s still capable of destroying us. Of capturing us and playing with us and killing us over and over and -

“How do we get in?” George asks, and I push my thoughts to the back of my head as I crane my neck up at the tower.  _ Be reasonable, Clay. It’s an inanimate structure. _

“There,” I say with certainty, pointing up at a small window high above our heads, a slit in the stone that I half expect to start blinking down at us like an eye.

“You don’t mean -” George starts, but I interrupt, running my hands over the brick wall and searching for holds.

“Yep. We climb.”

I’m a couple of feet off of the ground when I realize that George isn’t following. He hasn’t moved since our conversation, his face pale as he stares up at the window.

“What?” I ask impatiently, my arms starting to burn lightly. I press my chest against the bricks, which are surprisingly cool, and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.

“It’s heights,” George finally says, sheepishly.  _ Right. Heights.  _

“You better get over it quick.” I pause, hoisting myself up, before continuing, “This is our only option.”

I continue to climb, and he swears loudly before following. I slow down so that he can catch up, checking below me periodically to make sure that he’s still hanging on, arms and legs splayed out against the wall. The climb is easy, as long as you don’t give yourself time to register the drop beneath you, which is exactly what George is doing. The higher we get, the more times I watch him look down as he hangs on, his arms and legs shaking.

_ Stupid fucking fear of heights.  _ Somewhere in that man’s head lies the meaning of that word -  _ Dream  _ \- and it will disappear along with him if he slips and dies now. I offer him a hand when I reach the top, helping pull him up and over the windowsill, and his palm is so sweaty in mine that it’s a miracle he was able to hang on at all.

George and I exhale in unison as we take in our surroundings. The inside of the fortress is just as shabby, with parts of the ceiling looking like they are seconds away from caving in on us, but here we can tell that it’s far from abandoned. The noises echo down corridors - the cracking of bones, the popping of fire, the sound of metal scraping against metal - sending a shiver down my spine as I follow George. He chooses his paths seemingly at random as we twist through a maze of identical hallways, and I do my best to keep track of the way back.  _ Left, then right, then straight to the end of the hallway, then another right. Or is it another left? _

Besides our light footsteps and soft breaths, George and I are silent as we walk. However, it doesn’t seem to bother him this time, as he’s too focused on what might lie behind each turn. We move slowly, cautiously, listening for foes before rounding each bend and finding another path whenever we spot any of the dark grey skeletons with piercing eyes. 

I do my best to shake the anxiety out of my limbs when we take a break in a small, strange garden. We’ve done well so far, the only monster we’ve had to fight was simply a regular skeleton, but I know that our luck is bound to run out at some point. We can’t possibly avoid all conflict forever.

I exhale slowly as I lower myself down onto the stone steps, resting my chin on my palm.  _ Fuck, this better be worth it.  _ Whatever this guy knows - or thinks he knows - better be worth the heat, the endless walking and climbing, the creatures we have yet to encounter. I watch George as he plucks a piece of the strange fungus growing on the patch of matted dirt on the floor. He holds it up to his nose, smells it, before plucking some more and putting it into his bag.

“Is that what you came here for?” I ask, and my voice sounds dull and hollow, as if the brick walls are doing their best to absorb its sound. “Can we go now?”

George glances up, as if he had forgotten that I was there. “No.” He smirks lightly, and I should have known that it can never be that easy. “I just thought it might be a good addition to my mushroom soup recipe.”

He shrugs, and I almost want to laugh. It all seems so absurd. Here we are, in another dimension, in a strange decaying fortress, and all he can think about is soup?

We both freeze at a metallic whine from a few halls down. Whatever made that sound is close, too close, we need to go, get out of here, we need to -

“Hey! Are you coming or not?” George asks, already halfway down the hall in the direction of the noise. I can feel my heart hammering wildly in my ears -  _ no, not that way, anything but that  _ \- but I do my best to silence it as I follow behind him with as much confidence as I can muster.

“George!” He’s broken into a jog, completely disregarding our previous safety measures of slowly peeking around corners. “George, wait up!” 

George doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge my words as he follows the noises down a twisting hallway as if his legs have a mind of their own. I curse as I follow behind him, glancing nervously down adjacent hallways as I speed up. I’m reaching out to grab onto his shirt, to pull him to a stop and ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, when it happens.

One second, George is running around a corner, the next he is frozen. One second, he’s refusing to respond to my words, and the next he is screaming, a high-pitched, ear-piercing sound that’s rough at the edges and dripping with terror. One second, he stands confidently, the next, his sword clatters to the ground as he scrambles to shake out the flames inching up his shirt, only fueling the fire. My legs move without me telling them to, and I shove him to the ground with all the force I can muster, stifling the flames against the stone floor. It’s only after I’m satisfied that George has gotten the fire out that I look up, and my jaw drops as I see it.

It floats, surrounded by a suspended fire, the flames swirling around the golden metal rods that spin in circles. Smoke radiates from it, floating upwards to cover the ceiling. However, the worst part is the eyes, two dark points devoid of any emotion, and once they focus on me I can’t look away. I can feel it studying me, locking in on my body and movements and weapons. 

_ “Clay!” _

Somewhere deep down, I’m aware of George’s voice, but he sounds far, far away, as if he’s calling to me from another world. All I hear is the screeching of metal and the popping of the flames around the creature as it -

_ “Dream! Duck!” _

The world clicks into focus, George standing a few feet down the hallway and the ball of fire heading straight for my face. I drop to the ground instantly, feeling the flames singe the hair on the back of my head. I scrape my palms raw against the bricks as I catch myself, George’s words still in my ear. 

_ Dream.  _ He called me Dream again, and I responded instantly.  _ Why on Earth would I - _

George yelps, and I watch him dodge another fireball in my peripheral vision as I do my best to repress the thoughts I have no time for. I push myself off the ground shakily, picking up my axe from where I dropped it, and move to stand beside George. We rush the creature together without saying a word, his sword and my axe slicing through the metal. I breathe a sigh of relief as it quickly disintegrates.

“Holy shit,” I announce to the hallway, relaxing my stance. “What the hell  _ was  _ that thing?”

“A blaze,” George replies distractedly, kneeling down to examine the golden rod that the blaze dropped. He turns it over in his hands slowly as I survey the rest of the hallway, my gaze falling on a box that lies at the top of a small staircase. It’s more of a cage, really, housing a small fire that spins in quick circles.

“This is important,” George mumbles to himself, his brows furrowed in concentration as he stares at the rod. I glance down at him briefly before returning my gaze to the cage. Two small fires have begun to grow next to it, and I stare blankly for a moment before I get a glimpse of a couple of spinning rods amongst the flames, and I realize what’s happening.

“Uh, George...” I start. “We should probably get going.”

“What do you mean?” He looks up at me, before glancing down the hallway. The blazes are nearly fully formed at this point, all that’s left is for the dark eyes to emerge from the flames.

“It’s a spawner,” I say, stating the obvious. “They’re just going to keep appearing, but we have your rod, so let’s get out of here before -”

“No,” George states firmly, eyes narrowed in concentration. Before I can respond, he continues, tossing the rod into his backpack. “We need more than just one.”

“How many, then?” I ask, but he’s already bounding up the stairs to the blazes with my diamond sword at the ready. Once again, I’m left with no choice but to follow him, taking out the blaze on the left before spinning around to watch George dodge a fireball from his enemy. I catch my breath after he finishes the blaze off, watching the spawner warily as he collects the rods. 

George winces in pain as he stands, pulling some chicken out of his bag and taking a bite. I watch silently as he lifts the edge of his shirt, revealing his scorched skin from his first encounter with a blaze just as the burn begins to fade, smoothing over.

“It never gets old,” George says, looking up at me after his wound heals with a hint of a smile - possibly the first time we’ve made eye contact without him scowling. I open my mouth, but before I can respond, George and I are back to back as three more blazes spawn around us. My body kicks into autopilot, and the two of us kill blaze after blaze, singing my shoulder, his hand, my hair, his thigh. 

I can’t help but notice that somewhere during our trip through the fortress he’s stopped sending me wary looks, and his hand no longer grips his sword tightly whenever I’m near. Now, I can see the tension flow out of his shoulders whenever we finish off another wave of blazes, and he barely even glances over at me. It would be so easy, almost too easy to sneak up on him just after he finishes killing a blaze, when he’s still slightly injured, and -

_ No.  _ I push the thought from my mind, focusing on the weight of the axe in my hand.  _ Not just yet.  _ I finish killing the blaze in front of me, whirling around at a crash from behind.

“What the -” I start, but George ignores me, raising his pickaxe above his head once again. He brings it down with a grunt, shattering the black cage of the spawner and extinguishing the fire within. 

George glances up at me, seeming to suddenly remember that I’m here. “We have enough.” He shrugs, before plopping himself down with his back to one of the brick walls, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey !! i meant to say this in my first a/n, but i forgot, so i'll say it now... i planned a bunch of this story before i knew much about the 1.16 update, so this is set in the 1.15 nether. as of now, this just means they don't have to deal with all of the 1.16 biomes, but it becomes *especially* important later - you will see why ;)
> 
> also - thanks sm for reading if you've made it this far :D


	5. I - Chapter 5

I can feel George’s eyes on me as I slowly sit down across the room from him, keeping a safe distance between us.

“How did you do it?” George’s words are muffled by the food in his mouth, and he holds up a finger, swallowing before continuing. “I mean, how did you respawn? Or revive yourself, or whatever. Because I saw you die - I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not sure,” I respond honestly, although I notice George’s eyes narrow for a moment, as if he’s deciding whether or not to believe me. “I just... appeared where I started again. Without a scratch on me.”

“Hmm,” George hums with an expression I can’t quite place. I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head right now, his eyes on the low netherrack ceiling as he chews thoughtfully.

“That’s how you got here too, right?” I pause, before continuing. “Alone, lying on the ground, with nothing but a backpack, a compass, and -”

“A compass?” George’s head snaps up, and I immediately know I shouldn’t have said that. “I don’t have that,” he adds, and of course he doesn’t. Why would he, unless it was his goal to track me down as well? Which I’m at least reasonably sure isn’t the case, judging from this unexplainable adventure he’s dragged us on.

“Hmm,” I say, trying to keep my face placid as I meet his eyes, praying he doesn’t question it, doesn’t ask to see the compass. For once, he doesn’t seem to be constantly preparing himself to slit my throat, as his diamond sword lies comfortably a few feet away from him. I’d prefer to keep it this way, and I have a feeling that this development would change if he discovered that the compass points towards him.

“Weird,” I comment with finality, breathing a silent sigh of relief that he seems to be too preoccupied with his thoughts to pay much attention. I quickly change the subject. “So, what’s the deal with the rods?”

“The rods?” George blinks for a moment, as if he’s not quite sure what I’m talking about, before reality clicks into place. He reaches for his backpack, digging through to pull one out. “I’m... not quite sure, honestly.”

“You’re kidding,” I say, deadpan, and he shoots me a glare before going back to studying the rod, turning it over in his palms. “We almost  _ died _ to get those.”

George doesn’t respond, shuffling through his bag for another rod before pausing. “Hey, what’s this?”

It’s smooth and circular, about the size of his palm as he holds it out in front of him. Unlike the translucent rod, it doesn’t shine, and its deep green color seems to suck in any nearby light like a mini black hole. My breath hitches in recognition. 

“That’s mine.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” George scoffs. “I found it in your bag after you died. What I’m asking is how  _ you  _ found it.”

I shudder involuntarily before looking away from the pearl, hoping he didn’t notice. “An enderman dropped it.”

“Enderman?”

“You know,” I run a hand through my hair, smoothing through the tangles and doing my best to repress the memories that flash through my mind. “Tall, dark, thin, with purple eyes. You’ve probably seen them.”

What I don’t tell him is how piercing those eyes were, how they seemed to stare straight out of the darkness and into my soul, or how I stood, frozen, unable to will myself to move. I don’t tell him about how fast it moved, covering the distance between us in half a second, or how no matter which way I turned, it always seemed to be attacking me from behind. I don’t tell him about how it shrieked when I killed it, the sound filling my ears so that I couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t think, until it was replaced with a dull ringing.

I had stood, hunched over, eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds. And despite my insistence that I don’t cry - not anymore, at least, not since I left my shack at the village - I had cried then, the tears slipping down my cheeks helplessly as I picked my sword up from where it had fallen.

It wasn’t just the volume of the scream, but the misery contained in it, which was effortlessly passed onto me as it filled my bloodstream. In those few seconds, I saw what I feared most. Myself, wandering for an eternity, spending my life searching in vain for some sort of purpose, and forever coming up empty.

But I don’t tell George this. I stick to my six-word description, ignoring the goosebumps that have formed on my arms despite the heat, and he nods in understanding. 

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen those.” George purses his lips, gingerly holding the pearl in his left hand next to the rod in his right. “Listen, I think it’s important. I think they go together.”

He must notice my dubious gaze, because he shrugs, adding, “Well, somehow.”

George stares at the pearl and rod for a few more moments before the faint cracking of bones begins to increase in volume. “We should go,” I say suddenly, and he glances up as if I’ve startled him out of a trance, before tossing the objects back into his bag and quickly standing to follow me out.

\--

“What’s the point to all of this?” I ask between heavy breaths, swinging my axe loosely beside me as we stomp up the thin passageway I had carved out of the rockface hours before. After spending time inside of the relatively cool fortress, I had forgotten how unbearably  _ hot  _ it is out in the open, with a lake of lava bubbling below us.

“Hmm?” George replies absentmindedly, his eyes on the rod and pearl and his mind far away as he follows behind me. He had begun this trip much like our last, with his sword constantly ready at my back. However, after forcing us to stop briefly so that he could collect mushrooms, he had left his sword in its sheath. Instead, he preoccupies himself with staring at the rod and pearl with furrowed brows, waiting for them to reveal whatever secret he suspected they held.

Neither of us commented on the fact that he put away his sword, but we both knew what it meant. It wasn’t an accident. George didn’t simply forget. I’ve managed to prove myself while we fought the blazes, to gain his trust - at least, somewhat.

In between heavy steps, I smile softly to myself.  _ Perfect.  _

I give myself a moment to catch my breath, before repeating my question. “I mean, what’s your goal? Why are you doing all of this?” I gesture vaguely at our surroundings, the thin path he made me carve, the rod we almost died obtaining, and George’s eyes follow my hands. He purses his lips, as if deep in thought, and I scoff.  _ I may not know why I need to kill him, but at least I know what I have to do. _

“Hey!” George snaps defensively, glowering at me. “I have to kill a dragon. That’s how this ends, although I don’t exactly know how to find -”

He cuts off at the sound of my laughter, which I can’t help, and it leaves me gasping for breath as we hike up the thin passageway. It all just seems so ridiculous, like the plot of a silly children’s story, although after traveling to the Nether and fighting the blazes, a dragon doesn’t seem all that unlikely.

“What’s so funny?” George asks, his eyes narrowed, and although he is still holding the rod and the pearl, his focus has entirely shifted onto me.

“Nothing,” I manage to say, stopping momentarily to catch my breath before continuing to walk. “Listen,” I start, absentmindedly swinging my axe beside me. “Have you ever thought about just... settling down? Building a house, growing a farm, instead of killing monsters in other dimensions?”

It’s hypocritical, that’s for sure, because I know that kind of life would drive me insane. I could never lead that sort of existence, devoid of all purpose. Especially not with the knowledge that I have a mission to complete, one that revolves around someone who knows more than me about this world, although I’m not sure what it is he knows.

“I just... I can’t do that,” George pauses mid-sentence to take a breath. We’re both panting by now, sweat trickling through our hair, and I’ve got a pounding headache from the heat. I watch his face flicker in the light from the lava, his features tense with frustration as he jogs to keep up with me. “You just wouldn’t  _ understand,  _ Dr-”

I’m opening my mouth to tell him that no, I would probably understand more than you’d expect, when I realize that he cut off quickly. Too quickly, and now he’s fallen silent, the beginning of the word hanging limply in the air.

“What?” I ask, even though I know, I  _ know  _ what I heard, just as clearly as I did before he killed me, although he denied what he said, and just as clearly as I did while we fought the blazes, although we were too busy at the time for me to confront him. 

“Nothing.”

“No.” I can feel my body flash white-hot the way it always does when he says that word. I know it means something, I’m sure of it, and I’m sick of the way he refuses to acknowledge it. “You were going to say Dream. Right?”

George goes silent, and when I spin around to face him he isn’t meeting my eyes, instead watching his feet as he trudges up the deep red netherrack. I exhale heavily in frustration, throwing my hands down by my sides.

“What the fuck does that mean?” My pounding headache marks the beats of silence in which he doesn’t respond, and most certainly doesn’t meet my eyes. “Hey!” I snap, and he flinches at the sound of my voice. “Stop calling me that, or at least tell me what it -”

“I don’t  _ know,  _ okay!” His wide eyes meet mine as his mouth twists into a grimace, his hand balled into a fist around the pearl at his side, and I know that I can’t accept his words.  _ “I don’t know.”  _

No, I can’t accept that, not when I’ve come this far, not when he cuts off as soon as he starts to say it. It’s as if he knows I’m going to ask about it, as if he has some reason to hide - and he  _ must,  _ why else would he be lying about it, why else would we be arguing about this?

“Then just  _ stop  _ fucking calling me that!” I take a step towards him, my legs moving before I tell them to, and he takes a step back out of pure surprise as I -

I had only meant to scare him. To shake him up, just a little.

Well, no, if I’m being honest, I hadn’t really meant anything at all. I was pissed and reacted instinctively, my arms flying out in front of me as if moving on their own accord. How was I supposed to know that the edge was  _ right there?  _ And how was I supposed to know that the shove would take him totally off guard, and that he would lose his balance, stumbling backward to regain it? How was I supposed to know that the brittle netherrack would give way easily, the loose stones from when I made our passageway tumbling away as soon as his feet hit them? 

Time seems to slow down as I watch it click in both of our minds, his eyes going wide as he steps backward and finds nothing but open air, his mouth open in an ‘o’ of surprise as he realizes it’s too late, he’s going over the edge. Although the Nether is devoid of wind, the hot air ruffles his shirt and hair as he falls backward, dropping the contents of his hands instantly as he reaches out towards me, his eyes wide and pleading, a last futile attempt to get himself back over the edge.

I grab his hand. Of course I do, he’s the best shot at answers that I have in this hopeless universe, but in the moment my lunge forward is almost instinctual. I clasp my fingers around his, tightly, so that our sweat doesn’t let them slip through. 

It’s only after this that I realize my mistake. That in my desperation I threw my weight too far forwards, without realizing how close to the edge I was, or how easily the netherrack would crumble into small pebbles that slip off the ledge. 

As reality sets in, the world seems to slow down, and the ground slips away from my feet in slow motion as we tumble over the edge and towards the lava that lies below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was at this moment he knew... he fucked up 
> 
> also - i added extra enderman lore because i find them to be super cool :D the screaming sound that they make when you kill them is *extra* terrifying, and you see whatever you fear most flash across your vision


	6. I - Chapter 6

I don’t fear dying. No, I grew past that the instant I opened my eyes in the meadow for the second time and discovered that death didn’t matter, that although I would lose my location and belongings, I wouldn’t lose my life. And yet, I can feel my body go cold with terror as George and I are falling, momentarily weightless over the open lake of lava.

Because although death isn’t real, pain certainly is. And I can feel myself bracing for it as we fall, for the way my skin will burn as we hit the surface, erupting in blisters and boils. I’ll try to breathe before my head goes under, but the hot air will scorch my windpipe, and -

_ Wham!  _ I land heavily on George, but when I unlock my hand from his, I feel netherrack beneath us, not lava. I crack open my eyes to confirm, and sure enough, we’ve landed on netherrack - not to mention, it seems to have gotten cooler than it was when we were mid-air.

“What the -” I murmur, cutting off when I’m interrupted by a shriek. 

_ “Get off of me!”  _ George places his palms flat on my chest, trying to shove me off, and I comply. Still in a daze, I roll over and into a sitting position, staring at my hands, my arms, my legs. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of George’s feet as he scrambles away from me and a slight screech as he unsheaths his sword, but those noises all feel far, far away from me and my bubble.

“We’re still alive,” I breathe in wonder, examining the lack of scratches on my skin, the lack of the blisters I had been expecting.  _ How are we alive?  _ We should’ve died. My hands, still shaking violently as I examine them, are proof of that. __

“What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with you? Are you insane!?”

I slowly examine my surroundings, noting the netherrack wall behind me and the way the ground drops off a few feet from it.  _ We’re back where we were before _ , back to the pathway I had carved for us.

_ “You fucking pushed me!  _ I could’ve  _ died  _ \- we both could’ve died!”

I slowly push myself up to standing on shaky legs, holding onto the wall for balance. Although this all feels real, I’m still not convinced that it isn’t a dream. How could it not be a dream? After all, we were falling,  _ falling _ with nothing but an open lake of lava below us, and now we’re fine.

“You -” George starts, but he cuts off when I look at him and we both recognize the terror in each other’s eyes. He’s standing a few feet away from me, as close to the wall as possible, his sword outstretched defensively.

“How are we alive?” I ask, but it’s more of a whisper.

“The pearl,” George states flatly, his voice taut with anger. He kicks the ground, and at his feet are small, deep green shards, clearly the remnants of the sphere he was holding moments before. “It must have teleported us - well,  _ me _ , and you were holding onto me...”

“Oh,” I breathe.  _ Right.  _ He had dropped the pearl out of instinct when he started to fall as he outstretched a hand towards me. I stare at the shards in awe.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself? ‘Oh?’” George hisses suddenly, and I return my gaze to him. His sword tip shakes, and his eyebrows are knitted with anger. “You almost just  _ killed  _ me. If I didn’t happen to be holding that pearl...”

“You might’ve respawned,” I offer, but my tone sounds ingenuine even to me. Why would I be tasked to kill him if he could just respawn afterwards? 

“Maybe.” George seems to consider the possibility; however, none of the anger leaves his eyes. “But do you really think I’m willing to risk that?”

“It was an accident,” I blurt, the words falling desperately out of my mouth before I know what I’m saying. “I was just...  _ pissed,  _ I didn’t mean to push you over the edge, I -”

“Oh, shut up,” George laughs humorlessly, backing away from me. He shakes his sword as he talks, as if to emphasize his words. “Listen, I’m done with this. I don’t want to see you _ ever _ again. Got it?”

I gulp and nod.  _ God, I’ve fucked this up. _

“Perfect,” he says, spinning on his heel and storming away. 

I follow behind him, keeping my distance as he tosses the occasional glance back at me. We reach the edge of the passageway and move into an open valley, milling through a crowd of humanoid pig-like creatures. However, it’s only after I start climbing the same hill as him that he stops, waiting with a hand on his hip for me to catch up.

“Did you not hear what I said?” George asks as I slow to a stop. I’m standing comfortably far from him, yet his hand still lingers on the hilt of his sword. “I don’t want to see you! Stop following me!”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoff, running a dirty hand through my hair. “There’s only one portal, and I want out of this hellhole just as much as you do. We’re going the same way.”

George frowns, silent for a moment, before exhaling heavily. “Fine,” he snaps, raising his eyebrows mockingly as he gestures in the direction of the portal. “Lead the way.”

“Gladly,” I reply, walking ahead of him and sighing at the unmistakable sound of him unsheathing his sword behind me. It’s just like it was the first time we walked here, George following cautiously behind me, ready to stab me in the back the second I make a wrong move. 

_ I’m back at square one. I really did mess this up.  _ I curse softly to myself as I listen to the sound of our feet against the netherrack, mixed with the Nether’s ever-present faint screams. I should probably just kill George at this point - he’s lost the little trust in me he’s gained, so there’s not a chance of him telling me about where that word -  _ Dream  _ \- comes from.  _ And yet... _

I scuff my shoes as I walk, kicking a few deep red pebbles with every step.  _ And yet, I can’t make myself give it up.  _ I’m holding out hope that I can find a way to fix this, as unrealistic as it seems. After my weeks of being alone, I could barely remember how to talk to people when I first met George, so I’m not sure how I’d go about trying to fix a mistake like this.

_ All because of my stupid fucking temper.  _ I kick an especially large rock, stubbing my toe in the process.  _ And this stupid fucking heat.  _ I can’t think straight here, not when I’m always on the brink of a pounding headache, when my skin is crawling with sweat, when I seem to be burning up from the inside out.

_ Still, I’ll find a way. I’ll make him trust me again. _ I glance back at George, who shoots me a glare when he meets my eyes, his diamond sword held tightly in his hand.

_ I just need time to think... _

\--

The worry sets in slowly as we walk, starting in my fingertips and working its way up my arms as I struggle to remember how long it took us to travel from the portal to the fortress. The worry enters my feet, too, and then my aching legs as I realize that it most certainly didn’t take _ this _ long - we should’ve found the portal by now. As the worry travels up my spine, I glance around at our surroundings, and it finally enters my head when I realize that I recognize nothing around us.

I freeze, then, ignoring George behind me as he demands to know why I stopped. I spin in a slow circle, letting my eyes trace the cliffs, the caverns, the ravines, all made out of the same dull red rock. Even the rivers and waterfalls of lava got repetitive after a while, dripping down from the ceiling or trickling off a cliff. It’s no wonder I don’t know where we are - this whole goddamn world looks the same, exactly the same.

“Oh my god,” George breathes, like it’s finally hit him, like he’s had absolute faith in my sense of direction up until this moment. “You’re lost. You got us lost.”

“You could’ve helped,” I snap, spinning around to face him. He stands ten feet away from me - the closest he’ll get ever since I pushed him - with his arms crossed over his chest. The corners of his lips twist downwards at my words.

“I was following you! You were in the front!”

I scoff, scanning our surroundings once more. It’s funny, really. George won’t stand within ten feet of me, yet his trust in my ability to lead us back to the portal is so absolute that he didn’t even pay attention to where we were going.

“Well, let me think...” George sighs dramatically, running a hand through his dark hair. “You still got that compass?”

“Yeah,” I reply on instinct, surprised that he remembers that detail. It’s only after I speak that I realize my mistake, that I can’t have him looking at the compass, that I can’t have him finding out its secret.

“Can I see it?”

I gulp.  _ Fuck. _

“Because if the back of our portal was facing the sunset, that means we went east when we first exited...” George mumbles to himself, but my pounding heart drowns him out as I shuffle through my bag, slowly, my palm closing around the familiar metal, cool despite the heat of the Nether. 

“You got it?” George approaches, and I hold the compass out at arm’s length.  _ Please, just hold it in one direction,  _ I think helplessly, watching a pigman aimlessly wander in circles on the other side of the plain.  _ Whatever you do, don’t spin around, don’t notice it points to you, don’t get suspicious, don’t - _

“What the fuck? Is this some kind of joke?” George’s voice pierces through my thoughts, and I exhale in defeat.  _ This is it, I’m done for. _

“Listen, George -”

“It’s broken!” He holds the compass out for me to see, and only then do I look, watching the thin needle swing around in frantic circles. “It’s fucking broken!”

I exhale with relief, staring at the compass in disbelief until it clicks. “It must only work in the Overworld,” I say distractedly, not lifting my eyes from the needle. “Something about this... this  _ place  _ must throw it off.”

“Oh my god!” George laughs incredulously, tossing the compass in my direction to throw his hands out beside him in frustration. I catch the compass on instinct, my mind still fuzzy with relief as George continues, his voice echoing off of the cliffs and causing the nearby pigman to look over in wonder. “You’re useless! You’re actually useless!”

“Oh, don’t pin this on me,” I respond. George’s eyes narrow at my words, and he crosses his arms over his chest once more. “It’s not like you were any help.”

George opens his mouth, but I never get to hear what he has to say as a scream interrupts him, shrill and ear-piercing. In the split second of silence after it echoes across the valley, I see my own bewilderment mirrored in George’s eyes.

And just like that, the ground underneath us explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've always loved writing cliffhangers, if you can't tell... hehe
> 
> also, i thought it was an interesting plotpoint that the compasses never worked in the nether in earlier manhunts !! although it seems to have worked in the hunter's favor in this case ;)


	7. I - Chapter 7

If anything, time speeds up as I soar through the air. The ground seems to fly upwards when I collide with it, hard, my axe clattering out of my hands. I take off running as soon as my feet hit the ground, pushing myself forwards with desperation towards an especially large boulder. Another scream pierces the air, and I duck down on instinct, covering the back of my head with my hands as netherrack stones rain down around me. I focus on the boulder ahead of me, and my feet land heavily on the ground as I duck around a pigman to slide behind it. 

_ Don’t see me, oh god, please don’t see me.  _ I hold my breath as I sit, back pressed against the boulder. I stare straight ahead as I wait for that piercing scream once more, and the explosions that follow. I study the way the ground drops off into a ravine a little ways away from my feet, and the -  _ wait. _

I crawl forwards, cautiously, peering over the edge of the ravine, and there it is. The obsidian rectangle surrounding shimmering purple. I wasn’t imagining it. I tense up at the sound of another inhuman shriek, before relaxing when the explosion that follows is faint and far away. Staring at the portal, I can feel my heart soar with hope. I can do this, I can escape, I can -

Another shriek interrupts my thoughts, and I’m hit with the realization that if the explosions aren’t following me, they must be following someone else.  _ George.  _

I poke my head out from behind the boulder and spot him immediately, a speck on the opposite side of the valley, sprinting lopsidedly as the ground erupts behind him. He tosses a glance behind him as he pumps his arms, and I follow his gaze up towards the ceiling of the Nether, where I see it.

Oh. Oh,  _ fuck. _

I crouch, frozen, as it materializes out of the deep fog. The eyes are what I see first, a reddish color that flickers with anger, then the gaping maw of a mouth opening wide enough to swallow me whole as it expels a ball of fire. The body, a shimmery white substance, fades in and out of view, with long, tentacle-like limbs that propel it through the air. 

It’s huge. Bigger than any creature I’ve seen before, bigger than any creature I can imagine, and I have to consciously force myself to close my mouth as I come to my senses.  _ That... thing is coming for George,  _ I remind myself as I take deep breaths, gazing up at the ghast’s deep red eyes. _ And I’m not ready to give up and let him die.  _ At least, not quite yet.

I find myself remembering my bow, the one that George had discarded by the riverbank. If only I had taken it with me, or made a new one along the way, but it had been one more thing to carry when I was already trying to reach George as fast as possible...

As I scan my surroundings, my gaze falls on his diamond sword, lying haphazardly on the ground. It must have flown from George’s hand at the first explosion, or maybe he dropped it while running - there’s not much use for a sword while fighting something that floats high above your head. Right?

I know that, yet I still can’t tear my gaze off of the shiny blue metal, standing out amongst the red rock like a star in the night sky. I can feel an idea forming - a hunch, rather, the kind accompanied by a strange sense of deja vu that I can never quite explain.  _ I’ve been here before. I’ve done this before. And yet, have I? Have I? _

“Clay!” I snap my head away from the sword at the sound of George’s voice, hoarse and desperate. Now that he’s spotted me, he’s running in my direction, but I can tell immediately that something is wrong. His pace is irregular, speeding up and slowing down, staying on his right leg for as little time as possible. In fact, his whole body is leaning towards the left to keep his weight away from it. He’s covering ground, but not fast enough, and the ghast could shoot again at any second...

_ “Clay!"  _ h e shouts again, as if I didn’t hear him the first time, and my name is a question between us. He knows I don’t have to help him. He hates my guts, for God’s sake. I could turn around, I could leave this hellhole behind, but I make eye contact with him instead. He’s far away, across the valley, but I know exactly what his eyes look like - all wide and round and terrified. I’ve seen that look firsthand.

“Hey!” The word leaves my mouth before I’m fully aware of my decision, and I have to force my stiff legs to move, propelling me across the ground, out from behind the boulder. I don’t care about his wide eyes, or his stupid terrified voice, but I don’t want him to die just yet. Not until I’m sure I know what he knows. Not until I’m ready to kill him.

The ghast ignores my presence as I run, its eyes turning a deeper shade of red as it watches George, its mouth beginning to open, and I scream. I scream, louder than I ever have, a series of desperate gibberish that tears at the inside of my throat until it catches the ghast’s attention. All of a sudden, those red eyes are staring me down as I skid to a stop next to the sword and scoop it up. I toss it lightly in my hand, its weight familiar and comfortable. I had built it for myself, after all.

_ This better work,  _ I think, raising the sword above me. I’m vaguely aware that George is yelling at me, but I tune it out, along with the few wandering pigmen nearby, along with the cracking and bubbling of a nearby waterfall of lava. For a few moments, my world consists of only the ghast and I, suspended in time as a fireball emerges from its open mouth.

It must have screamed, the familiar, ear-piercing sound, but I don’t hear it. My ears are full of my erratic heartbeat and the breaths I desperately try to steady.

_ Inhale... exhale... inhale... _

The fireball hurtles towards me, and I crouch down slightly in anticipation. By some miracle, my arm doesn’t shake as I hold the diamond sword above me.

_ Exhale... inhale... _

My eyes lock onto the fireball as it approaches, and there’s nothing left to do but wait as a few seconds stretch into their own eternity.

_ Exhale... in- _

_ Now.  _

There’s a moment of blinding heat as I swing the sword above my head, and I can feel it scorching my hair, my eyebrows, my cheeks. But, just as soon as it comes, it’s gone. My hand drops to my side as I gasp, watching the fireball hurtle away from me.

It hits its mark precisely, straight between the ghast’s eyes. I would’ve covered my ears at the shrill shriek that erupts from the creature if I wasn’t hypnotized by the way it fades out of existence, just like I had by the beach. I drop onto my knees in relief, my heart still pounding in my ears.

_ That worked. Wait, that worked? _

“Holy shit!” I start at the sound of George’s voice, having almost forgotten that he’s still here. I hop up, spinning around to face him as he limps towards me with a crazy grin, his voice giddy and relieved. “Holy  _ shit,  _ dude, that was insane, that was -”

For a strange moment, I had thought that George was about to hug me as he approached, before his smile falters and he freezes a few feet away. He holds out his hand expectantly, and I stare at it blankly for a few moments.

“What?”

“The sword,” he replies firmly, and  _ right,  _ there’s that familiar tone of voice, that reminder that he still hates me. The sword is mine, I had made it for me, but I hand it back begrudgingly. 

“You could at least say thank you,” I mumble as I pick up my axe from where it had clattered out of my hands, but I don’t really mind. I had heard his voice after I killed the ghast, and the sheer, uncontainable relief in it was thanks enough. 

\--

I give George time to eat before I tell him about the portal, letting his wounds heal before leading him down the steep slopes of the ravine. We barely talk as we walk, side by side, him shooting me suspicious glances when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s as if he doesn’t know what to make of me anymore, now that I’ve nearly killed him then saved his life when I could have left him for dead.

_ Better than George hating my guts wholeheartedly,  _ I think as we approach the portal.  _ I can work with this. _

The trip through the portal is only slightly more pleasant when I know what to expect, but I manage to hold down the contents of my stomach this time, hanging onto the edge of the structure for support. Back in the overworld, I exhale with relief as a gust of wind hits the sheen of sweat on my skin.

“God, I missed this,” George says as we take in our surroundings. The sun has just risen and the air is still cool, although I’m sure even the midday heat would be a relief compared to the Nether. After the time we spent there, I had almost forgotten what it felt like to not be burning up.

I watch the fluffy clouds above us drift across the sky, before slowly lowering my gaze. The tall grass of the meadow is littered with multicolored flowers, like sprinkles on a cake, and the first glimmers of sunlight shine on the dew-filled grass. I feel a bit guilty for my hatred of this beautiful universe all those weeks ago, when I had emerged from the mineshaft. Despite its hidden cruelties, at least this world can be beautiful sometimes. Unlike the Nether, which wears its ice-cold heart on its sleeve.

“Listen,” George says, serious once more, and just like that the spell is broken. “Listen, Clay,” he repeats, and I sigh as I look towards him.  _ Here it comes. _

“Now that we’re out, we can go our separate ways, and I don’t want to see you again.” George narrows his eyes.  _ “Ever _ again. Got it?”

An idea tugs at the back of my mind, and I slip my backpack off of my shoulder. I’ve got a secret, after all, but maybe I can work with it. Maybe I can spin this in my favor.

“Hey! Are you listening?” George snaps, but I ignore him, instead focusing on finding the compass in my bag.

“It only works in the Overworld,” I explain, holding it out in front of me. George takes it hesitantly, squinting down at the little red needle pointing south. “But even then,” I continue, “It doesn’t work like a normal compass.”

“So, it’s broken.” George holds out the compass to give it back to me, but I don’t take it. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“It’s not broken,” I say softly. “It just doesn’t point north - it points to you.”

George opens his mouth, before closing it as my words sink in. Eyebrows furrowed, he stares down at the compass as he spins in a slow circle. 

“It points to you, George,” I repeat, but he doesn’t look up, eyes locked on the little needle. “I think... somehow I was  _ meant  _ to find you. We’re meant to work together.”

Having finally finished his circle, George glances up at me with a guarded expression that I can’t read. I can only hope he’s buying it, that he’s not getting suspicious.

“I know, it sounds crazy. I was skeptical at first, that’s why I didn’t know how to approach you at the beach, I wasn’t sure if you would kill me onsight...” I gulp, trying to keep my voice as open and vulnerable as possible. “But I think I understand it now. I was meant to find you because I’m supposed to help you on whatever strange quest you have, and -”

“I’ve seen you before,” George blurts, cutting me off and looking surprised that he had spoken at all. “I mean, before that time on the beach, in - in my dreams.” He laughs, scratching the back of his head nervously. “It sounds absolutely insane, that’s why I never told you, but I’m  _ sure  _ it was you. It looked like you, sounded like you...”

_ This is a world where you’re being led on a quest to other dimensions. How insane could dreaming about a person before you’ve met them be?  _ I think, but I don’t speak, hoping that it will encourage him to continue. He hands the compass back to me, pursing his lips as he stares at the horizon behind me, seemingly lost in thought and choosing his next words carefully.  _ Here it comes, what I’ve wanted to know all along, I can feel it... _

“Sometimes...” he starts, stops, then restarts. “Sometimes we’re laughing, and you feel like someone special to me, but sometimes...” He looks at me, suddenly, his deep brown eyes staring into mine, and I have to force myself not to flinch. “Sometimes you kill me.”

George pauses for a moment longer than necessary, holding my gaze, and when he continues I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I had assumed you were that version of yourself - the one that killed me, I mean - up until you killed the ghast, and...” He runs a hand through his short dark hair. “I guess I was wrong?”

We’re silent for a moment, listening to the wind whistle through the trees as it ruffles my hair. I want to speak, but I’m scared that any words will cut off his train of thought, so I keep quiet.

“I always call you Dream,” George continues, and I lock eyes with him as soon as I hear that word. “In the dreams, I mean. But I don’t think I call you that  _ because  _ you’re a dream person, no, it’s something else. I’m just...” He wrinkles his brow, glancing off to the side. “I’m just not sure what.”

George ends the sentence with finality, but I don’t respond when he finishes, waiting for him to go on.  _ This isn’t all, this  _ can’t  _ be all, not after I’ve spent weeks following him... _ I scan his open, honest eyes desperately for the glint of deceit I know must be lurking there, but come up empty when he shrugs.

“Sorry,” George sighs, shifting his weight. “Trust me, I wish I knew more too.”

_ He’s not lying.  _ The thought hits me with sudden certainty, and my heart drops.  _ All the time I spent following him, all the time I spent risking my life to gain his trust, and all he has for me is a bunch of meaningless dreams? _ I should’ve killed him back at the beach; it would have saved us both time. If only the spark of recognition in his eyes hadn’t ignited a small flame of hope inside of me...

I’ve let my longing for answers cloud my vision. I had turned George into a beacon of hope, letting myself buy into my deluded fantasy in which he knows the answers to this universe’s secrets. Of  _ course,  _ he barely knows more than I do. I should’ve expected it, really.

I notice George’s gaze flicking to and from my eyes nervously, and I have to force myself to smooth out my scowl, to unclench my hands where my nails were digging into my palms. “Sorry,” I say with a forced laugh, my voice tense. “I just... really want answers, you know?”

“I get it.” George gestures at the sun, which hovers above the treetops of the surrounding forest. “We should get going. Make the most of the day.”

_ We.  _ He decided to trust my speel about the compass, not that it matters now that his cards are on the table, now that I know he’s just as clueless as I am about our situation. 

_ Now that I’ve got no reason to keep him alive... _

“Lead the way,” I say, with a flicker of a smile that George returns, as if we’ve come to an understanding, as if everything is finally good. 

Everything  _ is _ good. There’s been a slight detour, sure, but it all worked out in the end. I’m back on track, I know what I have to do, and the pieces have fallen into place at my fingertips. It’ll be easy, now that I’ve regained George’s trust. George spins on his heel and heads to the nearby forest, a dense woods of birch trees, and my grin only grows as I stare daggers at the back of his head. Yes, everything is good. 

_ Everything is fucking fantastic. _

**END OF PART I**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> andddd that's the end of what i consider to be the first segment of this story!
> 
> thanks for reading if you've made it this far! shit is about to hit the fan for dream, so i hope you stick around ;)


	8. II - Chapter 8

**PART II - SOMEONE ELSE**

I can feel it, as soon as we start walking towards the forest. It infests my aching muscles, creating a home for itself as it creeps through the insides of my bones, from my arms to my legs to my ribcage. It lurks at the edge of my vision, in the black spots that vanish whenever I look at them head-on, and it pulses faintly at the corners of my skull in time with our footsteps. I can feel it floating languidly in the fog that begins to swallow my thoughts, growing with every inhale.

Exhaustion. I can feel it, and I know George can too. Although we can go days without sleeping, we can’t go forever - trust me, I learned that the hard way. And when we take our second break since we left the Nether portal, I can tell that we’re both long overdue for a night’s rest. George can hide it all he wants, biting down on a sigh of relief as he sits down across from me, but I can tell there’s no way he will be able to walk through the night. When the sun sets, he’ll have to break to sleep, and then it’ll be over.

_ All over.  _ I tear a chunk violently off of my last loaf of bread as I watch George attempt to start a fire on the damp forest floor, puffing out his cheeks to blow on a growing spark.  _ One more afternoon, one more evening, and it will be over.  _ I’ll kill him while he’s sleeping, in the dark, without his wide, terrified eyes on me. 

“Hey! I got it!” George looks up at me with a grin, his dark eyes reflecting the flames of his fire as it roars to life.

_ It’ll be easy. _

I lean backward, resting against a tree as I watch George skillfully pull the feathers off the carcass of a chicken. Sure, I don’t especially  _ want  _ to kill him, but what can I do? I didn’t get to choose the reason for my existence, and neither did he. All that we can do is fulfill our purpose. It’s what I was put here to do, it’s the meaning I spent the first few weeks of my life searching desperately for.

“So,” I pause to swallow the mouthful of bread in my mouth. “What’s at spawn?”

I ask it casually, but George stiffens suddenly, immediately, before forcing himself to relax. That was all he told me when I asked where we were going as he marched confidently into the woods.  _ “Back to spawn.”  _

Frankly, I don’t care much where he’s going, what he’s doing now - it’s not like he’s going to get very far in his plans, anyway - but the fact that he isn’t telling me is pissing me off. Isn’t he supposed to trust me now? Didn’t he buy my little speech about us being meant to work together? Why is he ignoring my question, pretending to be focused on the state of his chicken as he cooks it above the fire?

“Is the dragon at spawn?” I ask, and George glances up instantly, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“No!” he says, a little too forcefully, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “I mean, no, it’s not that easy.”

“Then what is it?” I narrow my eyes as George lowers his to his chicken once again. “This isn’t how it works, George, you can’t just say you trust me and then refuse to -”

I cut off when George starts to speak. “It’s just -” He scrunches his eyes shut, furrowing his brows, before opening them again. “Look, you said you woke up at your spawn, right? After you died?”

“Yeah.” I watch George eye his fire nervously as it starts to drizzle, my thoughts spinning.  _ But why does that matter?  _ He’s not dead, I’m not dead, we’re not even heading towards my spawn, so why would that matter unless -

“There was someone else.”

I blurt it out as soon as the thought comes to mind, and although George doesn’t meet my eyes, I immediately know I’m right. It’s been staring me straight in the face this whole time - George’s strange habit of talking to himself, his naive willingness to trust me, as if he’s worked with someone else before - and I’ve been blind.  _ How could I have assumed that George and I are the only ones here?  _ I shouldn’t be surprised that there’s a third; there could be a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, a -

“His name was Darryl,” George says, softly, his eyes not leaving the flames.  _ “Is  _ Darryl. We ran into each other on the third day. Spent the next few weeks together.” His sentences begin and end abruptly, his words clipped and tense as he refuses to meet my eyes. We’re silent as a gust of wind rustles the leaves around us, and a few water droplets make polka dots on my jeans.

“When he died...” George trails off, shaking his head, before restarting. “We were moving too fast, too recklessly, and I should’ve known that. I should’ve -” He cuts off abruptly, and I get the feeling that he’s been pushing his memories of that day far, far away, and they’re only just now catching up with him. George tugs at the grass nervously, before continuing. “We were far underground, and we walked straight into a room with a skeleton spawner. I escaped alive, but just barely. I - I had to leave him behind. He was telling me to, and I knew it was my only option, but it still - it eats me up inside.”

George’s words hang heavily in the air, surrounded by the faint pattering of rain. I can tell he means every one of them when he looks up, his eyes dark and brooding as they stare into mine, before the light rain increases and he gives up on his fire with a sigh.

“I just have to check,” he says as he extinguishes the remaining flames with his boot. “After he died, I kept moving forwards, searching for a lava pool. It never even crossed my mind that he could still be alive, not until you respawned. So I just... I have to check. I owe it to him,” he finishes, tilting his chin up slightly. His final words are laced with stubbornness, as if he expects me to disagree, to argue with him.

“Yeah. That makes sense.” Truthfully, I can’t care less whether his friend is alive or dead. It’s not like it’ll matter in the long run, anyway, since George will die before reuniting with him.

George wipes his eyes silently, discreet but not discreet enough, and I shove the rest of my loaf of bread back into my bag. I’m not hungry anymore.

“We should get going,” George says, pushing himself off the forest floor and heaving his backpack over his shoulder. When he glances behind to make sure I’m following, I see that his eyes have lost their brooding darkness, and now glimmer unmistakably with hope. 

I drop my gaze to his feet.


	9. II - Chapter 9

Despite our obvious exhaustion, George only picks up his pace as the afternoon sun drifts across the sky. We walk, silently, our footsteps intertwining to create a neverending duet of polyrhythms. Telling me about Darryl has seemed to invigorate George with new strength, and we don’t stop for the rest of the afternoon, despite the pleas from my aching limbs. I’ve gotten used to ignoring those, floating above my body and into my spinning thoughts on these long walks on low sleep.

_ Someone else. _

It had all seemed so simple before, when it was just George and I, and I had to kill him. But how could this Darryl person fit into this? What’s his purpose for being here?

I sigh, moving my bag to one shoulder and reaching in to tear off a piece of bread.  _ I suppose it doesn’t matter - not unless we find him, that is.  _ I pop the bread into my mouth.  _ And chances are, we won’t. Even if he somehow respawned, it’s been weeks, and - _

“Do you ever get bored of bread?” 

I blink, suddenly aware of my surroundings. George has slowed down slightly to walk beside me, the corners of his mouth upturned into a smirk. He takes another bite out of a piece of chicken he cooked this morning. 

“Uh,” I say uncertainly as I swing my backpack back onto my other shoulder.  _ What kind of question is this?  _ “I guess I’ve never thought about it before.”

_ “Never thought about it?”  _ George raises his eyebrows in astonishment. “Dude, it’s like all you eat!”

“I guess,” I say blankly, scanning our surroundings as the forest transitions into a marsh, and our feet start to sink into mud. George glances over at me as he walks, as if he expects me to say more, but I ignore him. I had spent the last day before I left baking bread at the village, filling my backpack with as many loaves as I can carry. Naturally, it’s all I’ve been eating - it’s more convenient than having to stop to kill animals every day.

When I don’t elaborate, George continues, hopping over a small stream. “The same food, all day, every day,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “I would go insane. Absolutely insane.”

I sigh softly. This isn’t how it works - we’re supposed to walk in silence, not make small talk, for fuck’s sake. I’m not supposed to get to know him, and I’m  _ absolutely  _ not supposed to grow to like him or actually enjoy our time together. I can’t have anything get in the way of what I have to do tonight, what I need to do, what I have no other choice but to do...

However, George won’t stop  _ looking  _ at me with these expectant side glances as he waits for me to respond, and it’s driving me crazy. “So, you’re a chef,” I say flatly, finally.  _ There, you satisfied? _

“Not really. But you gotta have  _ variety,  _ ya know?”

“Why do you care?” I snap, but when George looks over suddenly I force myself to take a deep breath. I smooth out my voice as I add, “I mean, bread is just easier. Doesn’t go bad as quickly.”

“Whatever,” George mutters, yanking his foot out of a deep section of mud. It’s begun to cover our boots with a sloppy brown layer and soaks into the bottom of our jeans. “Just trying to make conversation.”

_I wonder if Darryl made conversation,_ I can’t help but think as we move around the edge of a small pond. I wonder if they were simply partners, or if they were friends too, brought together by this strange, dangerous world. George’s eyes suggest the latter, his irises a swirling mixture of hope and loss, but I had higher expectations for him. 

He’d have to be awfully stupid to get attached to someone in a world this cruel.

“Hey.” George caves, breaking his own stubborn silence. It’s as if now that he’s decided that we’re friends, even the minute without conversation was too long. “There’s more to food than convenience, and I’ll show you.” I glance over at him, and he’s smiling once again. “I’ll -”

George cuts off at the sound of a scream, faint but distinctly human, carried through the twisting limbs of trees.

We lock eyes in an instant, both of us seeing a reflection of ourselves, eyes wide, mouth agape, eyebrows raised, frozen in place as time seems to stand still. I almost think that I’m imagining it - I  _ must  _ be imagining it - but George’s reaction tells me all I need to know. He heard it loud and clear.

I open my mouth to speak, but George is already gone, sprinting, stumbling towards the voice, his feet catching in mud as he holds his arms up to protect his face from branches. I’m left with no choice but to follow as I dodge through trees to keep up and splash through puddles, dousing my jeans.

“George,” I hiss through gritted teeth, as loudly as I dare - if we’re within earshot of the man, he’s within earshot of us, and has probably already heard our little stampede through the woods. I repeat George’s name, but although he’s only a few feet in front of me, I can tell that it’s no use. He won’t listen - he _can’t_ listen - not until he finds the source of the sound. I’ve faded into the background of his little world of running, running, running, until -

I nearly crash into George when he stops, suddenly, and I have to swing my arms to regain my balance. 

“What the he-” George spins around as soon as I open my mouth, shushing me wildly. It only takes me a second to follow his gaze into the small clearing where a man stands, and a moment later I can hear his laugher over my heavy breaths and hammering heart. He sounds crazy, absolutely insane, and a few feet away lies a body. One that’s distinctly inhuman.

“That’s not him,” George whispers in disbelief. I give him a questioning look, but his eyes don’t leave the clearing, locked on the man that should be Darryl but isn’t. Oblivious to our presence behind the drooping branches of a tree, the man swings his bow over his shoulder and approaches the body.

“Then who the fuck is that?” I ask, but George simply shakes his head in response. We watch in silence as the man places his foot on the chest of the body and tightens the white ribbon around his dark hair.

“Ha!” George and I both flinch when he speaks, pulling an arrow out of the chest of the body in one swift motion. The body disintegrates instantly, the way all mobs do. “Serves you right for -”

“Hey!” George shouts, and my heart drops. The man has got his bow loaded and pointing at us in an instant, and my fingers close on air as I reach out to pull George back, back behind the trees, back to safety. I curse under my breath as George marches into the clearing like the idiot he is, and I realize that I have no choice but to follow. 

I hold my axe out in front of me, feeling too exposed as I leave the cover of the trees. The tip of the man’s arrow alternates between George and me, as if he can’t make up his mind.

“Don’t come any closer!” he shouts, and the fire emblem on his shirt is dwarfed by the fire in his eyes as they dart between us.  _ What was George thinking?  _ Now we’re going to have to kill this guy, who clearly knows his way around a bow, when it would have been so easy to have left him alone...

“It’s okay.” George gently sets his diamond sword on the ground so that he can raise his hands in the air, palms open. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

I tighten my grip on my axe.  _ No promises, there. _

Despite George’s efforts, the man remains tense, and I stare down the arrow notched in his bow. If he were to shoot me now, I might be able to find a way to block it with my axe. That is, if I could react fast enough.

“Drop the weapon, then,” the man says, this time only to me.  _ “Drop it!” _ He narrows his eyes when I don’t respond, and I hone in on the fingers of his right hand, waiting for the subtle flick, the twitch that would signal an arrow sent in my direction...

_ “Clay!”  _ George hisses, looking aghast, and I lose my focus immediately. I can feel both of their eyes boring into me as I reluctantly lower my axe to the ground, leaving it a foot from my feet. I feel immediately defenseless without it in my hands. 

_ God, I fucking hate George sometimes. _

“Who are you?” The man asks, his bow still strung and pointed at us. 

“I’m George, and this is Clay.” George motions vaguely at me with his hands, before holding them above his head once more. “We’re looking for someone.”

“I haven’t seen anyone,” the man responds to George, but he’s only looking at me. Our eyes lock and his narrow as he deepens his mouth into a scowl.

“You sure? Because we think that...” George trails off, seeming to forget what he was saying, and I glance over at him. His dark eyes are wide and trained somewhere behind the man. “No way,” George adds, his voice barely a whisper.

It only takes me a second to follow his gaze over the man’s shoulder, to a bubbling lava pit behind him. But the lava pit wasn’t the important part - no, that’s not out of the ordinary - and what George  _ really  _ saw stands just above the bubbling fluid. It isn’t finished, but it’s already clear what it is.

The man was building a Nether portal.

“You have the dreams.”

I’m still staring at the half-made portal when George speaks, his voice still soft with disbelief. When the man doesn’t respond, George continues, gaining conviction. “You have the dreams with the dragon. And the Nether. And the blazes.”

“How do you know about that?” the man snaps, but his scowl has faded to a look of wary confusion.

“I have them too, I - you don’t have to finish that, you know.” George stumbles over his words as he swings his backpack off his shoulders to dig through it. The man tenses while he watches George’s hands attentively, but seems to relax slightly when George takes out a couple of blaze rods. 

“Look.” George tosses his backpack to the side before approaching the man, who lowers his bow with a look of wonder. “We already got them. You don’t have to.”

When George hands the man a rod, he takes it instantly, turning it over in his hands. “Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. “It’s real.” He looks back up at George, and it’s as if I’ve completely faded into the background, or as if I never existed at all. “How did you get this?”

“We did exactly what you were trying to do - we went to the Nether.” George gestures towards the unfinished portal, and the man’s eyes follow his hand. “Found a fortress, and killed blazes for their rods.”

He shrugs as if it were easy, and I scoff under my breath, but they both ignore me. It’s as if I’m a tree. Or a bush.

“Listen, we can help you,” George says softly. “You don’t have to do this alone. We can work together.”

_ Wait, what? _

“George!” He glances back at me with a look of faint annoyance when I speak. “Are you insane!? How do we know we can trust him?”

“He has the _dreams,_ Clay.” George rolls his eyes, as if the answer was obvious, and somehow I can’t think of a response. _This can’t be happening._ My stomach turns over. _No, this can’t be happening, there’s no way I can take them both on at once, how am I possibly going to kill George when -_

“Now we just need to get the pearls,” the man says, and I watch helplessly as George nods.

“You get them from enderman.” George extends a hand in front of him. “George.” 

The man switches his bow to his other hand to shake it. They smile at each other, they fucking  _ smile,  _ and the man only hesitates for a moment before sharing his name. “Nick.”

“Want to tag along, Nick?” George asks. I can feel my plan to kill him tonight slipping through my fingers like sand, and there’s nothing I can do, no way to save it as Nick responds.

“Absolutely.”


	10. II - Chapter 10

I have to duck to enter the hut, my hair brushing against the damp wooden roof. At first, I had thought that Nick built it, but the closer I got, the more obvious it was that the structure was built by something inhuman. The ceiling is far too low - even George has to duck - the ancient wooden walls are rotting, and a sign by the door is scribbled in some foreign language that I can’t recognize. 

Nick explains that it belongs to the witch that had attacked him while he was building the portal, seconds before we encountered him. As the sun droops lower in the sky, we decide to hole up there for the night. Nick has a house, or so he says, but it’s too far to reach before nightfall, and George and I wouldn’t be able to walk all night anyway. I could try, but I can sense that they’d materialize - the black dots in the corners of my eyes, swooping down from the sky to dig their claws into my skin. I’ve only encountered them once, but it was horrific enough for me to sleep regularly ever since.

I run my fingers absentmindedly over the miscellaneous jars of ingredients placed in haphazard lines on a wooden shelf, listening to the faint voices of George and Nick. I had volunteered to scout out the hut to make sure that it’s safe, a task that’s hardly necessary. Sure, there’s a cauldron, a brewing stand, a crafting table, and rows of potions and ingredients, but none of those are going to kill us.

I squint at the unblinking eye of a spider, suspended in a clear fluid. Really, I had only offered to check out the space so that I could get away from Nick and George and their stupid newfound friendship for a few minutes. I don’t trust him - we  _ can’t  _ trust him, at least not this quickly, but George is adamant about taking him along on our journey. George is delusional, absolutely delusional, trusting Nick unconditionally after we’ve both seen how dangerous he is. Even now, they sit by the fire like old friends, their weapons aside. 

_ At least, if Nick kills him now, that’s less work for me.  _ Yes, that’s the one silver lining in all of this. I can’t take them both on at once, but if Nick kills George for me, I can probably take him out. I’ll find a way.

I open a small book lying on the crafting table, flipping through the damp pages aimlessly. It’s all written in the same foreign language as the sign, but I can recognize many of the sketches drawn in. That potion calls for a spider eye, that one calls for redstone dust. And that one... well, I know what that potion is, with a skull and crossbones next to the heading, and -

I freeze. All of a sudden it hits me that the faint murmur of Nick and George’s voices has vanished entirely. It’s silent,  _ too  _ silent as I slip the book of potions into my backpack, moving slowly towards the door of the hut. My heart hammers as my hand closes around the doorknob.  _ Nick must have killed George, and now he’s coming after me. In fact, he’s probably waiting right behind the door, bow at the ready to - _

I push open the door just as laughter erupts from the clearing. When I walk outside, I see them just where I left them, sitting on the damp ground next to a fire Nick had made. George is doubled over in laughter, and it hits me that in all the time we spent together, I’ve never heard him laugh. Not once.

“Hey Clay!” George shouts, and I blink back to reality, standing on the porch of the hut with the evening sun at my back. “Want to try some soup?”

“It has a special ingredient,” Nick adds, and the two of them make eye contact and laugh again. Nick’s grin is warm, almost friendly as I approach, the polar opposite of the fiery man we found in the clearing. 

I can tell the soup smells terrible as soon as I get within five feet - this must’ve been what they were laughing about - but I try it anyway, pursing my lips and squinting my eyes shut to get George to laugh again.  _ Two can play at this game, Nick.  _

“It’s netherwart,” George explains. “The secret ingredient. I was trying to make something appetizing with what I brought back from the Nether, but it didn’t quite work out.” He shrugs happily. “I’ll have to try again later.”

“Please, no.” Nick rolls his eyes, and this time I force myself to laugh with them.  _ Yes, we’re all friends here.  _

Our group is silent momentarily as we take bites of steak, listening to the faint sounds of animals and running water, before Nick speaks up.

“So, who is this person? The one you’re looking for?”

“Oh.” George launches into his story about Darryl, the light of the fire flickering over his features as the sun begins to set. He speaks more fluidly this time, gliding over the details, and our group is silent for a few moments after he finishes.

“Well,” Nick says, finally breaking the silence. “This guy sounds pretty dead to me.”

“He - I mean, he definitely is,” George relents, before lowering his voice slightly, leaning in. “But you see, Clay died, and he’s still here.”

Nick looks over at me instantly, his eyes glinting with suspicion, and I can’t help but blurt, “You killed me!”

“You  _ tried  _ to kill me!” George protests, smirking slightly. It’s clear that George is joking - he thinks it was all a misunderstanding, after all - but the faint suspicion doesn’t leave Nick’s narrowed eyes.  _ I shouldn’t have said anything,  _ I think with a pang of regret as I study the dying flames of our fire.  _ It would have been better to let him assume I died from monsters, or from lava... _

“How did you guys meet?”

“Well, Clay found me -” George starts, but I cut him off before he can elaborate about our meeting by the beach, with me jumping out of the shadows to pin him against a tree.

“I have this compass that points to George. I’ve had it since the first day - I spawned with it,” I explain, meeting Nick’s steady gaze. “I think it means that we’re supposed to work together... that I was  _ meant  _ to help him...” I pause, before reluctantly adding, “And you too, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Nick purses his lips slightly, holding my gaze for a little longer than necessary. “I don’t have a compass. George, did your friend have a compass?”

George blinks for a second, clearly lost in thought. “Nope. Not that I know of, at least.”

“Interesting,” Nick comments, his tone casual and indifferent, but his eyes reflect none of that. I can’t shake the feeling that they’re staring deep inside of me, past my facade of helping George, and shifting through my true intentions.

I gulp nervously.

“So, what have you been up to, Nick?” George’s question saves me from Nick’s dark eyes, and I exhale a sigh of relief as Nick embarks on his story. He tells us about getting lost in a long cave system and having to survive off of rotten flesh before he found his way out, and the time he spent building his house, and his long search for lava. By the time he finishes, the sun has nearly set, so we stamp out the dying embers of our fire before moving into the hut for safety.

As the sunset captures the sky in pink and purple streaks, the sounds begin, at first lingering in the momentary pauses of silence and hiding behind the rustling of wind through the trees. However, as the colors fade away, the blue sky deepens to a dark grey and the noises grow, faint crackling and moaning. Even now, as I walk up the steps to the hut, I can see them at the corners of my eyes. A dark blob between two trees that seems to disappear when I look at it head-on. A flash of white from the shadows that I’m not sure if I’m imagining.

When we’ve latched the door safely behind us, I stand at the window and watch them emerge. The moonlight glints off of the sword of a zombie and the tip of a skeleton’s arrow, while the dark eyes of a creeper seem to absorb it completely. They move slowly, aimlessly, their eyes scanning the trees for a glimpse of anything human.

I shudder. It never becomes mundane to see your worst nightmares roam the world you call home. 

“Clay? You going to bed?” I spin around at the sound of George’s voice to see him sitting on the wooden floor, his face pale in the light from the torch. The laughter from this evening has vanished out of his eyes, and I can tell that the noises affect him as well.

As best as we try to hide it, the noises affect us all.

“We should take shifts.” I watch Nick drag a chair across the hut, pushing it against the door for extra assurance that it won’t open. He glances up at my words, and I add, “Make sure we’re safe while we sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”

_ No way in hell am I going to sleep with him here. No way am I letting myself lie unconscious at Nick’s mercy for the entirety of the night. _

“It’s fine,” Nick chuckles, but it sounds forced. “You can sleep. I slept last night, so I’ll probably stay up for all of tonight, anyway.”

“Well, the more the merrier,” I purse my lips, sitting down on the opposite side of the hut from him with my back to the wall. My aching legs thank me, but I ignore their gratitude. “Four eyes are better than two.”

“I’m sure we’re safe here. We barricaded the door,” George mumbles, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air like smoke. I look over at him in surprise when he speaks, almost having forgotten about his presence. He’s already settled in, curled up on the floor with his sweatshirt over him for extra warmth.  _ God, it would be so easy, if only Nick weren’t here... _

“Exactly,” Nick adds. “And I’ll be watching all night, anyway. Nothing better for me to do.” He plops himself down on the floor across from me, adjusting the ribbon in his hair absentmindedly. “You can sleep, Clay.”

I cross my arms over my chest. _ Worst of all, I know he’s telling the truth - he truly doesn’t have anything better to do. _ I figured out early on that I don’t need as much sleep as I was expecting, and a full night’s rest every three to four days is sufficient. Any more, and you’ll be lying awake for hours listening to the sounds from outdoors.

_ But that doesn’t mean I can trust him.  _ I study Nick from across the hut, dropping my eyes when he meets my gaze. No, I absolutely cannot trust him, not enough to fall asleep in his presence and give him the upper hand.

_ Although, I am tired... _

I run my hands over the goosebumps on my arms to warm myself up, stifling a shiver. I don’t dare put on the sweatshirt I keep in my backpack during the long, hot days. I can’t have myself getting too comfortable, too settled, not when Nick sits across from me, wide awake...

I yawn. I can’t help it.

As George’s steady breaths fill the room, soft and slow, I can feel myself fading, despite Nick’s cold, calculating eyes. My drooping eyelids snap open momentarily before beginning to fall again, and I pinch myself once, then twice, and then...

_ And then... _


	11. II - Chapter 11

_ I dream of the night sky, as always, stretching out endlessly above me. I gaze up at the stars, and they stare back at me, unblinking. A couple shoot across my vision, and my eyes dart between them. _

_ “Dream?” _

_ I blink in confusion, looking around myself but finding only darkness aside from the stars. I’m dreaming, I know I must be - where else could I be able to stare at the open night sky with a sense of serenity, rather than fear? And yet, I could’ve sworn I heard... that sounded just like... _

  
  


\--

“Hey, princess.” 

The voice swirls my mind as I awaken from my strange dream.  _ Great.  _ Now that George has told me about dreaming of me, I’ve started hearing him in my dreams as well.

“C’mon. You gotta get up, Sleeping B-”

I jerk awake when a hand touches my arm, slapping it away with as much strength as I can muster when my head is still foggy from sleep. I crack my eyes open to George’s laugher and Nick’s smirk, our faces separated by a few feet.

“Jeez,” Nick says, raising his eyebrows mockingly. “Not a morning person.”

It takes me a few seconds to assess my surroundings, taking in the sunlight streaming through the hut’s windows, causing George’s hair to shine as he leans against a wall. Nick bends down in front of me, clearly the person to shake me awake, with a look of sweet, sweet victory simmering in his eyes.

“Did you sleep well, at least?”

I don’t answer Nick’s question as I push myself up, but worst of all, I actually did. The fog clouding my thoughts clears as I stretch my hands above my head, and I feel ready to run miles on my legs. I should be grateful for the newfound energy, but frankly, all I can think about is wiping that stupid smirk off of Nick’s face.

“I know I did,” George responds for me, bouncing slightly as he watches us. “I was out like a light.”

_ So was I, and Nick hasn’t killed us yet. _ I fell asleep, and I’m still alive. I watch the back of Nick’s white t-shirt as he packs his things into his backpack, which is identical to the ones George and I have.  _ Maybe this situation isn’t as urgent as I thought... _

“C’mon, we’re wasting time.” George has one foot out of the door of the hut as he twiddles his thumbs impatiently. “The sun has been up for an hour already.”

One glance out the window tells me that the sun rose thirty minutes ago at most, but I don’t challenge him, instead grabbing my backpack and axe and following him out the door. Nick and I agreed to spend the day helping George search for Darryl, splitting up to cover the most ground. George’s spawn point is near here - at least, he thinks it is - so Darryl could be anywhere nearby.

_ “He must be.”  _ George had said last night, taking another bite of the steak we cooked over the fire.  _ “It’s the only place I’d know to look to find him. He would’ve stayed. He would’ve waited for me.” _

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s been weeks. That if any of us were Darryl, we most certainly would’ve given up on George by now and moved on. 

“Remember,” George begins, and I blink back to reality as Nick and I follow him down the creaking steps of the hut. “Brown hair, green eyes. Glasses. Dressed in all black. A few -”

“A few inches shorter than you, I know,” Nick interrupts, twirling an arrow around in his fingers. “At this rate, I could spot this guy from a mile away.”

“Good.” George shoots the sun another anxious glance. “We’ll meet back here, an hour before sundown?”

Nick and I nod in agreement, and in another moment we’re off, each heading in a separate direction. I carry my axe loosely in my right hand, swinging it beside me as I walk. My eyes aimlessly scan the horizon for anything out of the ordinary as I weave through a maze of pine trees, the temperature dropping with every step. I shiver slightly and wrap my sweatshirt around myself as small flecks of snow fall gracefully from the sky, dusting my hair, my eyelashes, my shoulders, my cheeks...

I exhale, and it’s gotten cold enough for me to see my breath. Alone once more, my eyes searching my surroundings for a mysterious person, I can almost convince myself that I’m searching for George once again. The world around me seems to click into place with every footstep, and I can feel the tension easing out of my shoulders for the first time since I met George. Everything seems to make more  _ sense  _ when I’m walking, surrounded only by the soft sounds of nature, and -

_ Nick didn’t kill me last night.  _ The thought springs into my mind with sudden clarity, and I chuckle softly to myself. Yes, he could’ve killed me easily when I was unconscious and oblivious, and yet he didn’t. 

Which means I have time. The clouds shift, and I squint in the sunlight peeking through the gaps. There’s no harm spending a few more days, or maybe a week tagging along with George and Nick. If I bide my time, an opportunity will come around eventually - probably sooner rather than later.

**\--**

I barely notice him at first, leaning against the rotting wooden wall of the witch hut. He gives me a nod as I enter the clearing, walking through the rays of evening sun splintered by the leaves of trees. As I take a seat, my back against a large tree trunk, I nod back with a half-smile.

_ There. I can be civil.  _ My hand doesn’t leave my axe, and Nick’s remains firmly around his bow, but we sit in comfortable silence as we wait for George. We’re not friends, but we’re civil. We’re a team. We’re -

“You seen George?” Nick’s voice cuts through the quiet, and I glance over in surprise. 

_ Of course I haven’t seen George, I wouldn’t be returning alone if I had run into him on the way back, would I? _ I think with irritation, but instead of shooting him a look, I sigh softly. “Nope.”

“He should be back by now.” Nick gazes at the horizon, his dark eyebrows furrowed as he turns an arrow over in his hands. A gust of wind catches his hair, blowing a few strands across his vision, but he doesn’t brush them aside. “It’s almost sunset.”

“He must’ve lost track of time,” I reply, following Nick’s gaze to the west. He’s right - the sun floats just above the treetops, and it droops lower by the second. We had been planning to stop at Nick’s house before dark, to stock up on food before spending the night searching for endermen, but at this rate we might not have time. A twinge of annoyance twists in my gut before quickly evaporating. George can see the sky just as clearly as we can. He would have known how long he’s been walking, he would have known when to turn around, and he would’ve arrived here in time, unless...

_ Unless something happened, something - _

I snap out of my daze at the whoosh of an arrow, flinching as it embeds itself three trees to my right. Nick shrugs when I give him a look, before shooting another at the same tree. Target practice. I get it. He’s bored, we’re both bored as we wait for George.

And this is an ideal situation, isn’t it? I should cross my fingers that something did happen to George, but in the meantime it’s just Nick and I, and I can -

_ Pang!  _ Another arrow hits the tree, splitting one of the earlier ones in half, and I give a low whistle. No, on second thought, I most definitely cannot take him on right now, not when he’s ten feet away with his bow strung. 

“Thanks,” Nick offers with a smirk, and I briefly wonder whether he’s doing this on purpose. Whether he’s using this absurd moment to show off, whether now that he has my attention, he’s proving a point.

I chew on the inside of my cheek nervously as he strings another arrow. Well, whatever he’s doing, it’s working. If I am to kill him, I’m going to need some kind of advantage. An upper hand like the one I have over George, the one I could’ve used if we hadn’t run into Nick before nightfall yesterday.

“Hey,” I begin, and Nick glances over, lowering his bow. “Look, I’m sorry if we started off on the wrong foot. I’m not a bad guy, I swear...” He eyes me dubiously, and I force a chuckle. “If we’re going to be working together, we’re going to have to learn to like each other.” I take a few steps towards him, making a point of leaving my axe by the tree, and hold out a hand. “C’mon. Friends?”

He purses his lips, waiting a second longer than necessary before moving his bow to his left hand and closing the distance between us. His eyes don’t leave mine as he shakes my hand. Although I’m taller than him, I’m suddenly aware that his hand is bigger than mine, his fingers enveloping mine firmly. I gulp as he studies me, as if he can sift through my thoughts like sand and pull out my true intentions. He squints slightly - but maybe it’s just because of the sunlight - before letting go.

“Okay,” he replies, and the word twirls in the light breeze. It’s not much, but it’s something. I can work with this. I give him another half-smile, and he returns it, slightly.  _ Civil. We’re at least civil. _

Our heads snap to the side in unison at the snapping of branches as heavy footsteps drum against the forest floor. Nick doesn’t raise his bow, and I don’t bother grabbing my axe. We both know who it is, and the rustling of leaves grows louder for a few moments before George bursts into the clearing.

“I’m sorry, I -”

“Where were you?” Nick snaps, sounding a bit like he did the first time we met him. George flinches, bending over to catch his breath, and a couple drops of sweat drip from his hair onto the ground.  _ Fuck, how long was he running? _

“I -” George starts, between breaths, but Nick doesn’t let him finish.

“We said meet to an hour before sunset! Does that look like ‘an hour before sunset’ to you?” Nick gestures at the sky, and George has no choice but to shake his head at the red stripe along the horizon. “Didn’t think so,” Nick adds, and George scoffs.

“I’m sorry, okay?” George pauses to catch his breath, before continuing. “I got carried away, I didn’t save myself enough time to get back, and -”

“That’s all? You got carried away?” Nick frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. In that moment it clicks, as I glance between George and Nick silently. It’s as if Nick’s body suddenly flashed transparent. It’s as if I can suddenly see through him, all the way to his skeleton, and he actually  _ cares.  _ He actually cares about this man he met yesterday, the one with the same dreams as him, who laughs around the campfire and makes soup with weird ingredients and insists on searching for his dead friend.

_ Fuck, that’s pathetic.  _ I could laugh, if they weren’t in the middle of an argument, if that wouldn’t make them pissed at me.

“You could’ve  _ died,  _ and we would’ve never known,” Nick adds, his lower lip jutting out slightly. He’s violated the first rule of this fucked up world - we all know you don’t let someone get to you. Whatever you do, you don’t let yourself care. 

“I just -” George pauses, as if not sure how to continue, his eyes narrowed in his signature look of stubbornness. “We haven’t searched for long enough, okay?”

“‘Haven’t searched for long enough?’” Nick scoffs, and the loose ends of his ribbon flutter as he shakes his head. “We’re stomped around the whole vicinity of your spawn point, George. If he was here, we would’ve noticed. There would’ve been a sign.”

In the moment of silence while George thinks of a response, I finally stop glancing between them and speak up. “He’s right, George,” I say, my voice low, but both their heads snap towards me as if I shouted. George doesn’t respond, only stares at me with a look of betrayal - as if we had a friendship to betray in the first place. As if by accompanying him ever since the Nether I’ve agreed to follow his every wish, even when he’s dragging us on a wild goose chase for his dead friend.

“You know he’s right,” I add. Nick gives me a nod, and I realize that this is potentially the first time I’ve agreed with him on something. It’ll probably be the last, as well.

“C’mon.” Nick sighs, the tension ebbing out of his voice. “It’s going to be dark soon. We gotta get going.”

“Right,” George mutters, his eyes on the ground as he follows us, Nick leading the way to his house.


	12. II - Chapter 12

The first sunset was magnificent.

I remember watching, mesmerized, as the sky exploded into color. It had begun with the deep red of the horizon, as if it were on fire, and spread upwards in streaks of pink, red, and orange. They had blended and swirled with one another in a spontaneous dance, and it was beautiful. So, so beautiful.

It was on the third or fourth night when I realized that it was always the same. The same colors, the same dance, signaling nothing but the coming of night and the creatures who follow. Simply another trick of the universe, another facade of beauty made to mock those who stop to marvel. I had nearly died my first night as I watched the last glimmers of color fade away. A skeleton’s arrow had grazed my cheek, and I had run, run,  _ run,  _ until I was back to the relative safety of the village.

Since then, I’ve only given the sunset a passing glance. It’s nothing more than a benchmark, after all, a reminder that it’ll be dark soon. Its beauty has faded with time and grown almost ugly when accompanied by the fear and pain that comes after.

I haven’t properly acknowledged the sunset in weeks, and yet George seems to be determined to watch the entirety of it, leaning against Nick’s house. I can see him through the window, his eyes cast forlornly at the colors that glimmer through the tangled branches of trees, his hands fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt. 

“He has to know his friend is dead,” Nick says suddenly, and I look away from George and back to what I’m supposed to be doing.  _ Right.  _ Separating his supply of dry fish into three equal piles while Nick digs around his extra storage space. “I mean, I know you’re alive, but it just seems so  _ unlikely,”  _ he continues, setting a couple of shields down on his table with a clang. “Even if he is alive, how are we supposed to find him? Chances are he’s given up on George coming back for him at this point, so he could be fuckin’  _ anywhere,”  _ Nick scoffs, and his house drops into comfortable silence. He’s mostly talking to himself, after all. I just happen to be here to listen.

Having finished with the fish, I watch Nick as he pulls an extra bow and quiver of arrows out of a storage closet. His house is nice; I’ll give him that. My tiny shack on the outskirts of the village is nothing compared to his sturdy wooden walls and ceiling. The interior is cluttered, but it’s only because of the quantity of supplies he’s hoarding. He could probably spend weeks, or even months fighting monsters every night without running out of food or iron. He’s even got a garden out front, with wheat and carrots and potatoes.

_ So while George and I have been in the Nether, this is what he’s been doing.  _ No wonder it took him so long to find lava, if he’s searching primarily in day trips before coming back to his home. After Darryl died, George simply chose a direction and didn’t stop walking, and it seemed to have served him well. 

“You should go talk to him,” Nick says, addressing me for the first time since we started preparing for the night. I give him a confused glance, and he sighs as he lowers himself down into a chair. “Talk some sense into him. He values your opinion. Not that he doesn’t mine, but... I mean, you know.”

I do know. Despite Nick’s lack of trust in me, despite my usual silence when they chat, George and I are a team. We’ve experienced horrors that Nick can’t even imagine, and George trusts me for it.

“Okay.” 

I cross the room, gently opening and closing Nick’s door as I step outside. George doesn’t respond when I leave the house, although he must’ve heard me, and I lean against the wall a few feet to his right.

“It’s always the same, you know,” I say, barely louder than the breeze that ruffles my hair.

“Hmm?”

“The sunset.” George doesn’t look over when I speak, and his eyes are cloudy with the fog of his thoughts. I run a hand through my hair to smooth it out. “It never changes.”

“I know,” George replies after a moment of silence. “I just -” He cuts off suddenly, finally meeting my eyes, and the misery that lies inside of them washes over me like a wave. Back when he hated me, I was too busy trying to gain his trust to notice how  _ sad  _ he is. That even now, he’s still mourning his friend.

“Darryl and I used to watch the sunset together.” George’s voice is low and his eyes are back on the horizon. “Every night, and I...” he trails off with a humorless laugh. “I dunno.”

“If he were alive and waiting for you, we would’ve found him.” George tenses up at my words, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t contradict me. I take a deep breath before continuing. “I know it’s hard to let someone go, but there’s nothing more you can do. There was nothing more you could’ve done.”

George winces, and I wonder if my words have come out wrong. Having to console him was never a part of what I signed up for when I followed him out of the Nether, and after the weeks I spent alone, I’m not much good at this stuff.  _ So much for Nick telling me to talk to him. _

“One more day?” George asks, his eyes wide and pleading. “One more day of searching for him, just to be sure, and then I’ll give it up. Then we can move on.” I sigh, pursing my lips, and George adds, “I promise.”

“Fine,” I relent after a pause, although there was little chance of me denying him this. “Will you come inside now?”

Suddenly uncomfortable with the silence, I don’t wait for his answer before spinning around to open the door behind me. George follows after one last look at the fading colors, and Nick glances up as we enter.  _ One more day,  _ I mouth to him, and he nods in understanding. 

It’s strange, this partnership we’ve formed, when I’m fairly sure he still distrusts me, still more or less hates my guts. 

The three of us move quickly, each grabbing our share of the food and checking the condition of our weapons. While we had used our daylight hours to search for Darryl, we had agreed to use the night to hunt for endermen, pushing George and Nick closer to their goal of killing the dragon. 

I take a deep breath before following my two companions out of the house, watching darkness swallow the remains of the sunset. 


	13. II - Chapter 13

We head out just as the tiny dots of stars begin to appear above us. I try to explain to them what happened the last time I killed an enderman - the piercing scream that filled my ears, the images that flashed in front of my eyes, the way the world seemed to be reduced to the inside of my head - but Nick laughed it off with a wave of his hand. 

He’ll see. The second he kills one, he’ll see. He’s killed spiders and skeletons and zombies, but these are different. These are a whole new type of hell.

We split up to cover more ground, but remain within earshot of each other. I exhale softly into the sudden quiet, broken only by the sounds of my footsteps across the damp forest floor. For a few blissful moments, I can almost forget that they’re here, until I see a flash of blue from my left, or hear the whiz of one of Nick’s arrows from my right. But for a few blissful moments, it’s just me and ground beneath my feet, my iron axe held tightly in my -

I freeze as an arrow zips past me, skimming my cheek, before I jump at the skeleton that emerged from the shadows. My axe swings down on its collarbone, and the creature collapses instantly. I step over the bones smugly before they disintegrate, wiping the thin line of blood off of my cheek with the back of my hand.

_ Yes, this I can do.  _ I know where I stand here, in the middle of a dense forest, where it’s all life or death. Where your foes emerge from the shadows and you take them down with a single blow. No laughter, no friendships, no misplaced trust. Sudden clarity comes with being alone once more, scanning the horizon and taking out any monsters that cross my path.

I flinch at the sound of a strangled cry from my left, no doubt a zombie that George just killed, before sighing.  _ Right.  _ No matter how hard I try to ignore them, George and Nick are still here, on either side of me. We’ll meet up again at the end of the night - or perhaps sooner if someone calls for help. I can’t escape this situation I’ve put myself in, I can only bide my time until I get the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. 

I run a hand through my hair as I look up at the stars, which wink at me as a sudden gust of wind rustles the leaves above me.  _ Maybe if George and Nick would shut up for, say, five minutes at a time, I’d be able to think. _ The tension between them had vanished when George followed me back into the house, after we agreed to search for Darryl for one more day, and in its place came the playful chatting. The laughter, the teasing. I could barely keep up with their conversations, standing off to the side and nodding along, nevermind have time for my own thoughts.

I freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of my surroundings.  _ Did I hear that right?  _ With the howling of the wind swirling around me, it’s hard to pick out human sounds from inhuman, but I could’ve sworn I heard -

“Hey!” 

“George,” I murmur, tightening my grip on my axe as I jog towards the sound. I squint into the darkness, ducking under a low hanging branch, and then I see him.

He stands in a small clearing with tall, crooked grass. It appears to be empty, but as I get closer I know that can’t be true, not with the way George’s head swings around as he scans his surroundings. 

“Clay!” His eyes widen as he spots me, and I can see him relax from his tense crouch, lowering his shield.

“Geor-” I start, but cut off at a zipping sound - one that makes my heart drop with recognition. The creature’s footsteps are heavy as it bounds towards George, and I feel myself mindlessly lower my axe as I take it in. It’s taller than I remember, and my head doesn’t even reach its shoulders. Although its back is to me, I can already see its piercing purple eyes, staring straight through my skin and into my flesh, into my thoughts, into my hopes and deepest fears... 

_ An enderman.  _ I hadn’t seen one since the one I killed weeks ago, when I started avoiding them as best I could.

“Clay!” George shouts again, and my body clicks into action as I snap back to reality. I sprint towards the enderman as it swings its arm at George, knocking the shield out of his arms. My axe hits its back a second later, and it shrieks, spinning around to face me, but it’s too late. We’ve got it surrounded, and when the enderman’s purple eyes lock on my figure, I watch the point of George’s sword emerge from its stomach. The tall, lean body that had once been formidable now disintegrates with a gust of wind.

I close my eyes, bracing myself for the ear-piercing screech I heard the last time I killed an enderman, but it never comes. Neither do the flashes of darkness, of emptiness, of endless wandering. The forest keeps its quiet as I exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I crack open an eye, chuckling softly. “Well, I guess I was wrong about -”

I cut off at the sound of George’s scream. Not a yell to get my attention, not a shriek when a mob surprises him, but a  _ scream.  _ High pitched and full of terror and agony, the kind of scream that is accompanied by fear that consumes you, until it’s all that you can feel and taste and touch and -

_ Of course.  _ George was the one to give the killing blow to the enderman, so he’s the only one to hear the enderman’s shriek, to see the images flash before his eyes. I spin around to face George, and he’s fallen to his knees, hands over his ears, eyes squeezed shut. He’s completely oblivious to my presence, and to the pearl that has dropped in front of him. 

I should be sympathizing. I should be remembering how I felt when I killed an enderman, and I should be hearing myself in George’s scream. However, all I can think about is how Nick is nowhere to be seen - it’s just George and me.

_ It’d be so easy. _

My fingers tighten around the wooden handle of my axe as I look down at George. He’s on his hands and knees, his fingers gripping the grassy floor like a lifeline, his eyes still squeezed shut. I stare at his back, at the way his chest expands and contracts rapidly as he attempts to regain his composure.

_ It’d be over before he even knew what was happening.  _

I take a step forwards. I imagine my axe, raised above him. I wouldn’t even have to swing, not with him crouched on the ground like this. I could simply let go, let gravity do all the work, and then -

“Clay?”

The sound of Nick’s voice snaps me out of my trance. I spin around to face him, off-balance. My eyes are wide with shock as they meet his, my composure lying in fractured pieces on the forest floor, and I can’t think of anything to say.  _ How long was he watching me?  _ God, I was so stupid, I should’ve killed George immediately instead of letting myself just  _ stand  _ there.

I drop my eyes to Nick’s hands, unable to hold his gaze, and his knuckles are white around his bow.

“What are you doing?” He asks, but it’s pointless. He saw me. 

“I...” My thoughts jumble together in a tangled mess under his unwavering dark eyes. “Looking out for mobs while George, uh...”

“Thanks,” George says, pushing himself off of the ground. He stumbles, ever so slightly, and only then does Nick stop looking at me.

“Holy fuck, dude, what happened? Are you o-”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” George laughs humorlessly as he runs a hand through his hair, discreetly wiping his eyes in the process. “I just...  _ fuck,  _ Clay wasn’t exaggerating, and I wasn’t expecting to see -”

“What did you see?” Nick asks, but I’m barely listening to their conversation. All I can see is Nick’s knowing glare, and his fingers tense around his bow.

“You died. Both of you. Just... just like Darryl.” I flinch at the hollow sound of George’s voice as he glances between us. His skin looks almost translucent in the pale moonlight. “And I had to watch, over and over and -” 

“Hey, it’s okay. It wasn’t real,” Nick reassures, but he’s not looking at George, and he most certainly does not have a comforting expression. 

“I know, I just -” George shakes his head with a sigh. “You’re right. Let’s keep moving.”

Nick insists on switching places with me as we depart - putting me on the right, him in the middle. Of course he would, to insert himself between George and me. I don’t protest, despite the confused looks George throws between us - how could I, when I still don’t have an excuse for the way I was looking at George? For the thoughts racing through my mind, palpable to any onlookers?

I swing my axe steadily as I find my rhythm again, my breaths mixing with the sound of my boots hitting the forest floor.

_ Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck.  _

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to win Nick’s friendship over, slowly and steadily, and bide my time for an opportunity to take them both out one by one. He wasn’t supposed to  _ know, _ although I’m not quite sure what he thinks he knows.

My heart hammers, and every time I blink I see Nick’s dark eyes. I see the way they gazed into mine, the gears turning in his head.  _ What is he going to do now? Kill me? _ My skin feels alive with electricity as my head swings towards every sound coming from the darkness. I wait for it - the whiz of an arrow, the sound of his footsteps behind mine.

But it never comes. Not even as the horizon begins to burn with early morning sunlight, and we make our way back to Nick’s house. George and Nick chat cheerfully, laughing as they chase a flock of chickens on our way home. They’re acting like five-year-olds, and I follow behind, quietly. I’m unable to shake the events of the night from my mind, even as none of Nick’s actions feel out of the ordinary. He and George have a right to be happy; after all, we killed four enderman last night. Nick had pushed through his first time killing one - tense, jaw tight, meeting my eyes as he held onto a tree for support - but that could’ve just been a cocky show of strength, like the arrows he shot towards my head in the valley. _ Right? _ He wasn’t necessarily terrified of letting his guard down around me after seeing the way I looked at George...

I flinch whenever Nick glances towards me, searching for the suspicion, the anger I’m expecting but can’t seem to find in his cloudy eyes. I excuse myself as soon as we make it back to the house, mumbling something about needing to hunt and grabbing an extra bow. Our food supply is fine, thanks to Nick’s supplies, but I need to clear my head. To hear my thoughts once more.

After I spot a small pack of cows, I realize that in my distraction I forgot to bring any arrows with me. I sigh, leaning against a nearby tree before turning back towards Nick’s house. I’m already a fifteen-minute walk away, but it’d be too suspicious to stay out here, returning empty-handed an hour later when I said I left to hunt. 

As soon as I spot the wooden beams of Nick’s house between the trees, I can tell that something’s off. I can hear the breeze gently rustle through leaves, the crackling of a campfire they started, the gurgling of a nearby stream. And yet, there they are, Nick adding kindling to the fire while George watches, silently.

_ Since when have Nick and George been so quiet?  _

I step slowly, trying to minimize the crunching of leaves under my feet, before ducking behind a tree a few meters away.

“Who?” The sound of George’s voice startles me, in response to whatever Nick said before I came into earshot. Nick scoffs in response.

“What do you mean,  _ ‘who’? _ Clay, obviously.” Nick falls silent for a moment, but when George doesn’t respond, he continues. “I mean, have you ever thought about how it’s  _ weird _ that he’s the only one who has a compass? And who doesn’t have the dreams?” His voice is loud, bouncing off of nearby tree trunks. “Not to mention the fact that he respawned, while Darryl -”

“We don’t know that Darryl is dead,” George blurts defensively, and although I can’t see him, I can imagine the look in his eyes. A thin layer of hope, of determination, to mask the loss that lies behind. “We could find him today.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Nick backs off, lowering his voice. “But it just doesn’t add up. I’m not buying it.”

A metallic taste fills my mouth, and I realize I’m biting down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. I had known this was coming, I had known Nick knew  _ something,  _ but that doesn’t stop my heart from pounding in my ears.

“He saved my  _ life,  _ Nick, how could I not -”

“Was this before or after he tried to kill you?” George falls silent at Nick’s words, and I wince. “And how many times did that happen again? Twice?”

“It was all just a misunderstanding,” George replies, but I can hear his uncertainty in the slight waver of his voice.

“You see, you say that, but...” Nick pauses, as if he’s working out the words that float through his mind. “But you didn’t see the way he was  _ looking  _ at you last night, after you killed the first enderman. I could’ve sworn he was going to... to -”

I don’t let Nick finish, marching over with footsteps they could hear from a mile away. Nick spins around, looking strangely guilty, and I smile at him.  _ No, I didn’t hear anything, nothing at all.  _

“Hey.” I pick up a quiver of arrows leaning against Nick’s porch, attempting to keep my voice lighthearted. I hold up the quiver with a smile, feeling strangely close to boiling over. “I forgot to bring arrows.”

“Right,” Nick replies stiffly, running a hand through his hair. The motion seems awkward and forced. I shoot George a strained smile as I walk past, but he doesn’t look up, his eyes focused on the twisting flames of the fire.

_ He won’t even look at me.  _ The smile drops off my face as soon as my back is to them, leaving them alone to finish their conversation.  _ Goddammit Nick, what have you done? _

When I make it back to the pack of cows, I shoot them all, one by one. My anger simmers down to a strange determined focus as I let the arrows go, and of course, of  _ course,  _ I should’ve known this would happen. Despite my fears, there was no chance of Nick killing me last night, not when it would pit George against him. His attachment has become his weakness, and now he has to get George on his side before he tries anything.

_ Although judging from their conversation earlier, that seems to be easier than I thought.  _ I let another arrow go, and it misses wildly as George’s wavering voice and downward cast eyes flash through my mind. If they both turn against me, there’s not a chance of my survival, which means I’m running out of time.

I spin on my heel, heading back to Nick’s house with my chin high, despite the circumstances. Yes, I’ve made a mess of everything, but I know how to fix it. I know  _ exactly  _ what I have to do.

I have to kill Nick.


End file.
